Fog in Dingle, Emily Mui

 

From the river something is stirring

in a Pacific ultrablue,

an edgeless ripple or a water bomb where the sea sinks into violet.

The rower bends over his boat with its talon curve and cargo

of grasses. His slender pole

paints the water

with motion, stirs the currents of harbor ships bent with wind,

faceless as the gust of birds

morphing south in black geometry.

The trees crack the blueness with their lightning trunks.

The roof cracks the earth

with its horns.

A woman kneels on the balcony praying to the vastness

which consumes her.

The sun rises again, and sets.