The lagoon with you,
rock formations we’ve never seen before

like gifts from space or
as if the wind was a dog

chewing them beyond recognition.
The sign says not to jump in—

the waves would dash us against sharp stone
while molten sunset washes over,

our blood melting orange
as we dissolve into fire-spun sea.

So we don’t, and take a gentle route
round the chewed-up rock.

We grip each other’s arms
when the way is too jagged

and kiss each other’s legs
when they scrape on those edges.

Years of sun have whetted this land
yet plants push past the points.

Today we acted reversibly.
Change, the only certainty,

becomes an itch
to make better or worse.