Lest we should see where we are, Lost in a haunted wood, Children afraid of the night Who have never been happy or good
Homeless in three languages, we are lost, cast ashore on a shoaled bed. Tie yourself to my mast. Any day of mine ends well in you, spent in your arms, no longer tossed by voyages. Turning in the night breeze, your brine-slick belly towers like a sail, your hips lift on a wave as the salt swell mounts beneath you, within your hold, your knees gripping me, flooding you, bringing you home. You kiss in French, mumble je suis arrivée. At last we have arrived, have come to play: the only country we shall call our own. Abandoned children, becoming lovers, let slip the world, and anchor in each other.