Sonnet III

Sonnet III

In the wood-workings, the carvings of lost cultures
I glimpse your almond-eyes, standing as a
testament to time, a lighthouse in the darkness;
a piercing, perfect apparition.

Where the hibiscus grows and the sea-sand
glistens, there your tiny feet leave prints
on wet soil, fitting within my own impressions
in the dust. Here, even as we are apart

you live inside me. Where I travel, there
too you will be. When I float about those
bulbous waves as driftwood and the sea
robs me of my everything, still

I will keep you in the hollow
I've built within me. You will be carried still.