Belief in the Pacific
Yes, night’s nowhere, that’s where I sleep,
till the sun wakes, stretches, begins to burn,
greeting me when my dazzled eyelids leap.
Sunday’s hymns laze on a blue horizon.
Cloud feathers like white sand as ants seethe
across wide leaves, across yellow fronds’ weave;
and coconut trees vault green to the sky’s
clang of church bells.
his Bible, thumbs gilt like a hitchhiker,
smooth brow filled with calm lagoon light,
though engine drone drowns surf’s slow sigh.
From sleep’s hurricane my mind heaves
forth island maps, and I’m this wind-drifter
on a frayed mat, dreaming of a comeback.
