On the Way to Avalon
Rose, Kasia and I float on mist and silence
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framed in muted greys and browns. While rowing our wooden boat,
Rose hums melodies to accompany
intermittent groans from the oar locks.
Our breathing follows the boat’s sway,
slooshing through big water. Damp breezes,
the scent of fish, sponge our skin.
There is no horizon and we drift so long
that time is unconcerned. Kasia removes
a bowl from her rucksack; she offers me its
red berries. Their bright color, bold
in the twisting fog. Kasia smiles
as she places the fruit upon my tongue.
