On an island of sugar sand
we are bone thin.
I wait up for you. In the morning
my eye sockets are two dredged harbors.
The Buddha said: spread your heart like a rug
for company. Sweep it.
You are the only visitor I want. The rocking does not stop
even after months on the mountain.
Were I farmer, I would grow seas
of flowers and grains: you could row home.
I close my eyes and the boat tilts. You
hold me as we go under.
- Lisa Ortiz
