Travel, the long impermanence,
winding toward a coast town
on a dusk road. Sunset, harbour,
and the chance of a fee bed
as if sanctuary can be paid for.
The estuary blinks all night,
one red eye, one green,
safe, unsafe, polarities of ebb,
flow. At daybreak, pelicans
calmly afloat, riding the same
pulse that rocked the womb
I slept within under a tin roof
whose stars chinkled like rain.
Now here, woken again from
darkness, inside a paper-thin
cabin crushable as infancy.
Years are not what ages
the span. The perpetrator
is longing, hover dreams
that weigh less than light.
Feet might yearn upwards
but bitumen is insatiable,
spider veins that entrap and
feed. Ground, the one solid,
encumbered, the anchor.