Crossing the straits is easy
As sleeping with you, my sweet:
The waves just keep slipping away
Like the bedclothes from our feet.
A salt moon leans to the mast,
White as your head on my arm —
I’m afraid of the lights on the sea,
I’m afraid of the calm.
A gull falls away in the dark,
Like your lost hand under a sheet
When hunger is deep as the ocean
And there’s no advance or retreat.
Drowning is easy, my darling,
As when foundering lip to lip
Horizons topple and vanish
And into your breathing I slip.
By Alistair Te Ariki Campbell