Air-Bound Beach Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Two skies stitched
by a horizon,
a line at sea's border

at the razor-edged
end of the world.

Cutting off
blue waters below

from a hanging arctic
firmament
hanging above,
stretching to a hairy
alabaster contour

its screen waving
the pearl
and powder space
of the last trumpet

to be blasted
as the world freezes
to a dot.

(ii)

O lapis waters
floating a smoking boat,
this black and white
butterfly gliding
along a thin bearded wave.

Unfolding stretchier waves
to roll back to foam,

a stretched cream rope.
Tying up beach earth
to the falling arms of palm fronds
bowing together

to breezes singing on a ride
to a shore that steers life.
Holding back an ambling leafy
backyard extending deep

into fields, where yellow,
grey and brown birds fly over
racing fur on four legs
cowering behind wild mammals.

(iii)

Is this what heaven's gate
looks like in early
dawn's nylon and silk dress,

when every arm's stretch
is cotton unscrolled to itself,
hiding a line
running to a door no one sees

but the piping plover
to fly me to the heels of earth
harboring close-knitted
emerald leaves
waving ribbons of flowers.

When I lie by two
beaches stitching cerulean air
with the cobalt fabric
of still and dancing waters,

take me up a staircase
to a pink crimson heaven's gate.