Morning slides in under leaves
as if thieving the day, an intruder perhaps,
in the bliss fields of dreams.
I’m glacier walking in the heat of summer
sliding in the uncertainties of storms
my house built in the curl of the wave.
The world has teeth and I wait to be swallowed
caught up in some calamity
as if there were one with my name on it.
We build paper boats to skim over waves
and set off on long journeys like children
wearing blindfolds in the rain.
