I’m an island
On another planet,
I’m so far away I could die.
The earthquake that made me
Comes back around to shake me up
And now and again
I crumble away a little
And the fish nibble at my toes.
I’m an island,
I’m surrounded, swallowed up
By deep blue melancholy,
I have a little melody
That I whisper through my palm trees
When the wind comes whistling ‘round.
I’m an island
And I’m beautiful
For white sands and a volcano,
I’m so beautiful you’d cry
If you could see me,
You’d try to free me
But I’m stuck to the ocean ground.
I’m an island,
I write myself a novel,
Because I’ve got no one else but Word,
And my four peach- colored walls
Become the horizons that I’m dreaming of
And my floor becomes lagoons
That beckon me to drown.
I’m an island
Because I cry,
My tears are my existence,
I’m my own wife and my own husband,
And I am childless and bloodless and I’ll always be around.

He is a rowboat
Of weathered wood,
Made of love and aged by making love
To the elements that define him,
And his wisdom and his readiness
To cross the Seven Seas.
He is a rowboat,
His billowed sails prepare for passion,
His oars anticipate his return home
With two in tow.
He is a rowboat,
The only one who can
And wants to reach his island in distress,
He carries himself
On wings of wind,
He’ll carry us both
When it becomes apparent that I can’t swim,
He’ll row and row and row his boat
To land ashore on the pain within
And he’ll love me all the way to his mainland.