The seagull squawked:
Are you dead?
I cannot see him - there is sand
In my eyes. A crab (it must have been)
Scuttles across my foot;
Picking up scraps at the seaweed
Wrapped around my toes: the vibrant
Green now worn out from its trip
Across the seas.

Land **! We rejoiced,
Docking at Island ---
It's your turn to name it.
Log Number 712: we are intoxicated
With a tropical fruit
That made your face flush
Putting every sunset to shame.  
And at night we play a game
To guess which is sea or sky.
You are my mirror.
A gentle breeze caresses my thigh.

Are you awake?
You whisper, your breath tickles
Condensing into dew
Landing on the tiny hairs of my ear.
The sand feels like mud but
My mouth is dry
I lick off the trail of sweat
On my upper lip - it is hot
I open my eyes to the sun screaming
at my face: Get up. You're late.

We had begun falling asleep  
At different times.  
You built a tree house
It made your heart race
And there you drew a scape
What was there to look beyond?
One night the sky had
The sea turned into smoke  
You followed the beating
Of thunder
So distant you couldn't
(Listen to me) yell Watch out!
Lightning --- the water shimmered
As you disappeared.

(Water)
Log number 890: we are capsized
(Water)

The crab picked out
The sand in my eyes
Dragging the seaweed to my mouth.
I chewed then spat and the seagull squawked:
"Are you dead?"
No, I said. I think I have arrived.