Palm greens and Plumeria
shape a cool bower on the beach
which I leave to wade
in the evening shallows. The salt water
blue and weightless.
Stepping in its tide,
my small feet remember
their first glimmer. Sheer silver
flashing beneath the wave.
Fish petals veined with metallic thread.
The same thread used to string
a host of stars. A harp
that sang of sleek maidens
and sailors lured by their loveliness, caught
helplessly in the languid net of their sigh.
The same glittering skein
of origin that pulls me in. Home
to rise ( again) from the brine-god’s rib
as the female Eve may have been
shaking a coral branch
before the garden and her luscious apple
leafed in lore.