12: Comfort - Dec 2021

My Anchor

If no eye is watching, 
absent even from each perfect sparrow
(such infinite isolation)
then, especially then,
we must gently 
cast our eyes, urgently focus 
our attention 
on each other.

Weighted and untrammeled with time,
sprawled on the beach of you,
my blue shadows, greys always 
pooling around your blacks and whites,
your crashing sea-scented waves.
Your hands are on my hip bones again, 
hinging me forward, and
my eyes surge back at you through my hair.

Anchor me now 
to the hilt,
I’m soaked with the history 
of us, never abandon 
this island we made.
I’m an envelope you hold,
invisibly bulging, ever
unknowable, our linked memories 
begun by a lake, always bordered by 
water, tides, and we flow cradled by currents 
on shores of this ocean lake we call home, and 
boundless.

- Tanya Fenkell

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