“All rivers flow into the sea
but the sea is not yet full.”

And I’m surrounded by blue-eyed gentry
and blue-labeled beer
and an immense blue sky
the width of the blue coast
And amongst it all
at the kitchen table
with the blue tablecloth
sits the boy
with the beard
the blue jeans
and the red-breasted sweater
And I stare at him
then out the window
at the beach below
And I think about those recipes that state
“according to package directions”
And I apply this
to the obviousness of it all

“The near explains the far.
The drop is a small ocean.
A man is related to all nature.”

Blue is see-through
The sky, the river, transparent and circular
The lie, the liar, transparent and circular

To say “no man is an island” is a lie
diametrically opposed to that truth
discovered after too many months spent lying
beside you, trying to be
that self I was when I met you
Because we are all islands
Or rather, we are none islands,
and all water, all ebb, all directions
of varying lucidity
And I have sifted through algae
and parted green seaweed from my eyes
and rediscovered humility
And I see, that by consuming sovereignty
I am see-through too

And now I’m allowed to love you


Published in Carte-Blanche: Issue 5, January 2007
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