theparisreview:

Wherever I look you are islands

a constellation of flowers breathing on the sea

deep-forested islands mountainous and fragrant

fires on a bright ocean

at the root one fire

all my life I have wanted to touch your ankle

running down to its shore

I beach myself on you

I listen

I see you among still leaves

regard of rock pool

by sun and moon and stars

island waterfalls and their echoes

are your voice your shoulders the whole of you standing

and you turn to me as though your feet were in mist

flowers birds same colors

as your breath

the flowers deliberately smell of you

and the birds make their feathers

not to fly but to

feel of you

—W. S. Merwin, “Islands”

Photography Credit Matthew Brandt