Islands in Winter
Last night I dreamt about
People who live on islands in winter.
About those who sail east at night
With the low sun on their back,
Throwing long shadows onto their deck.
I dreamt that islanders sail into that darkness
Under an sky not yet touched with stars,
Or even a tiny slice of moon,
And they are swallowed up one by one
to sleep at the bottom of the ocean.
Their eyes are soothed with barnacles
And their mouths are filled with sweet sand.
In the morning, they wash ashore
Onto their granite beaches and
Unwind from a salty bed of kelp and ice.
They welcome the day
With a cup of black coffee served in a
Delicate, chipped cup inherited from their mother.
They slow the sun down before it races west
Over a mainland that is still asleep,
Under its warm, flowered sheets.