My House

Ah, were it a house
where every room opens eyes
to the sea
all breathing the same substance
reminder how you cannot reproduce
in your own shape the truly blue
leaning on the horizon
the obligatory supplement to the edge
of land

tension in the body assembling me
as an island that knows it is washed
by the tale of water
the milky lemon-green overplay
of light over the waves
curving them with the colors of the spectrum
simply as the sea-mist that cloaks the benign
trees
the elevation of the coast where the sky
and the sea are mixed and the solid
disappears.