Wednesday, April 20, 2011
When you cry out
in a language I don’t know
I want to follow where you are,
stowaway in the boat of your ribs
under the oar of your arm.
You crash on the shoals
of your other country, your sisters still
waiting, your brothers scanning the horizon
for their own escapes.
How can they fathom the depths we drown in
every dappled night? Where the day
has crisped black, we cast our net
toward the shadows. We fill it with fishes.
Dripping light, we throw each one back.