Somewhere in the antipodean blue The old salt sea rustles anonymously Darkened by nocturnal ink Busy and dark the currents, the old fingers Wedge themselves into sea rock and heave The world and all her nations along the ancient fulcrum
While here the lemon-bright Sun Beats and throbs like passionfruit Soaks the green world wet with light And folds each shadow according to its image
Lord, here I am, I am A mango rind on the kitchen floor A single strip of protozoan matter Bearing one charge, to set my spark
And with the passionate essence be calibrate Here the body shall break, multiply, diminish, proliferate Here it shall be pinched by thumbs old and young Rich and poor, fair and unfair For nothing is equal, not even equality Even the darkness is not dark to You.
Raymond Dokupil is a graduate student at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. He co-hosts a culture and literature podcast: Unreliable Narrators.