In the time it took me
to reach your harboured heart-shore,
I got busy locking down,
trying to make my footsteps sound happy
on every silent flight of steps in town,
so much that I began to fly
offline, all over places
where muted feet can soar.
I found I could fly like Chagall,
falling in love with myself at every
swoop of newly-feathered arm.
So when I land at your rocky heart-shore,
I’ll wonder where I left my anchor.