What is this talk between me and you,
this language of oceans and rivers?
Let the strange bird of desire alight on our bow, continue
its trajectory toward the isles.
It cannot stop for long here
while we turn about the bed, holding our shadows
together, the tips of our fingers sealing the seams
of bodies of water reaching towards the land.
We know we are severed
for our shards have bloomed
into each other. This is my desire talking to yours
for we are now the largest of the islands
as seen from the sky.
From the path of flight of the swallow
the shattered archipelago
seems like a single stripe.
The cliff opens as the shadow-birds dip
into the waiting water, their thirsted beaks brushing
the perimeters of earth
sweeping and swooning in the sweltering summer
always in slow motion
tracing the choreographies of lust
as my finger traces the edges of your body
standing out against the planetary darkness.
I could rebuild your body from the memory of my touch
as one rebuilds a river one has long loved
the healing touch upon the abandoned skin
so many refused to hold and fill
like the current soothing your unloved corners
sweeping out ancient pains embedded in the tensest muscle
like your fingers seeking flight in the crevices of my waterproof body
where is the tenderness if not in the surrounding canopy of water
encircled by the light?
rays entering water shining upon your amphibian skin
frog of a former mangrove where roots have clung to mine.
Let us swim together as two herons
arriving at the surface of the stream at the same time
gliding down in the direction
of the sun settling into the ocean.