On the Shore

piece of sub-continental land
emergent crust, jutting rock
isles, islets, skerries, or cays

how large the mass, how great
the diameter or coastline shore

oasis in sea-salt waters
or wrinkle that splits a river
or crowns a lake’s complacence

island bejeweled by pastel coral
reefs feasted upon by anime fish
washed in Andy-Warhol pigments

island chains like paving stones
tip-toe over briny seas
showcased on slick covers
of travel brochures

otherworldly, dreamscapes
for urban-locked tourists avid
for pineapples, tropical limes
crab over succulent smoking fires

island of imagination, lands
of wet, shifting borders

island, bite-sized continent
land contiguous with sea floor
coast, beach, mountain, plain

On the Shore

no one, they say, is an island
each of us born of blood, flesh
rent from our mother’s womb
we land, wet, writhing

on the shore, this rock
or that sandy holm
on the soft belly of our land
into those hands that fold
us to earth’s bounty

no one is
but becomes
no one is
but comes to this island—
this blue gem—in a dark universe

we shipwrecked islanders
washed up on this shore