This jungle tree drips
as on this sea ledge I sit
watching the foam of the waves.
Orange lights burn on a black horizon
bobbing twinkles of silent fishermen.
My voice an intrusion on the noisy tropic night.
How long must I paddle until I bridge that silence
with only soft clappings on the bow;
from here on this ledge
to the boats on the reef?
Change is not asked on the sea.
The night dark like the mist between a holy isle and shore;
to get there is a matter of believing.
Forbidding. And we mustn't. Danger, danger. No assurance.
The crossing is completely up to me.
