Land's End
for R.H. in Japan

I hit water.
Raced the sun, sinking
here, just rising for you.

Shell slips from my fingers, hands float,
a shape impressed them--swelling and ebbing
through cycles of night.

Funnel the water between us,
boil off mineral distance
and pour--

the sound of washing dishes,
Carlo watering his lawn.
Even the leaky basin forecasts

tears in oceanic proportions.
I'll whisper in waves
how you've become much.

1986 John Goss