CARLOMAR DAOANA

We reach the top of this island
Thinking of the hydrographies
Of our lives though we already
Have forgotten. The sea 
Surrounding us could be our past
Or our future, permeable skin
Of time we can never swim in
Without memory. But memory
Has its limits: matter turns
In the quality of what gives water
Its color, gives off the elements
That holds it, something textured
And solid, like landscapes
Anchoring into place a thought
Of sky. We feel the immense open
With what we have lost: pieces
Of ourselves that keep surfacing
For permanence, struggling for air.
There is nothing else but submission.
The way we will give in to the rain
Erasing us, to the rainbow
Reminding us of who we really are:
The beautiful, the accidental.