Tide

From here the moon climbs,
over the orange-smeared clouds.
Tonight, Venus burns—
like a Lakshmi owl’s eyes.
 
Evening and darkness
have crossed the far hills,
and over the calm sea,
stars scatter like broken porcelain.
The sky turns violet.
Night settles in the garden.
Love for the sea wakes in the chest.
 
Only the jasmine’s scent,
only the heat-sweat of the night.
Ocean to ocean—
how silent war can be.
Where the lotus blooms,
there is life-giving.
 
Thin Tagar flowers wake
in yellow dreams.
The last moon of the night—strange, soft.
I will be there with you,
where no one sees,
eyes closed in trust.
 
Where on the sandbank
addition and subtraction are done,
the violet waves retreat.
The waterline beckons,
kingfisher whales call.
 
You sit waiting—
no place left to float.
Far away stands Death,
leaning on an ostrich wing.
 
Thirst has lodged in the chest today.
The horizon line holds its breath,
grief in the thirst.
On a shepherd boy’s lap
I will take this burden hand to hand.
 
Leaving the cub’s small world,
we must walk the unknown path.
The sea gives direction—
the dinghy’s answer is with the water.
 
The shore cries today.
Buds rise in the dawn,
the thirsty sit on the riverbank.
I think of going to the far side.
 
You stand close now,
beside the stream and the sky.
The world’s boatman sits there,
calls, waves the oar—
those who will cross.
 
The flood is coming,
raising its jihad.
Everywhere the rhythm changes,
clouds roar in anger.
The boatman grips the oar.
 
The sea is stormed tonight.
The tide calls,
calls again.