Hoa am I doing for time.
I'll read three more poems from "In This House".
This one is titled, "Island".
"The moment one says, it is a moment of perfection,
it is something less than perfection.
So on the island of Fernando de Noronha, I will be quiet now.
I will let the bird speak Portuguese.
I will let the water speak dialects of green.
I will let the rocks tell me I was never really born
and the vistas carry my insights to an early death.
I will let the breeze nudge my ears off one cliff here and one
cliff there.
I will let the air confiscate my passport.
And I will let the sand send my battles to the sea.
Let them all simply make an island out of me.
The moment I say I am lost without love,
I will be something less than lost."