Two huge clouds droop from the sky
onto the ocean surface
and in that cleavage, a small fishing boat—
with a little steering it sprouts wings
and flies out
to chase seagulls,
drawing a new coastline.
The road is spiraling uphill,
lifting the ocean.
When we’re near the top, my thin retina
can’t embrace the ocean that looks heavy and dull
as my aged ancestors. I close my eyes.
Inside the car, the air-conditioning blows out
piano fingers of cold air that play my arms
in recurrent invisible waves.
Under my skin streams out a large pod of humpback whales
raising their heads, spewing out
farewell to me, as solemn as the standard scripts of the island.