here (cyril wong)

[pikasu]

Here between the country
that will not remember our love
and the sea, our clothes spill

like sand from a tilted
palm. Then we are walking
arm in arm. We are gazing

in the same, unwavering direction.
There is no need to mourn
for what we have left behind.

Look as our footprints
evaporate when we approach
the chiming of waves, waves

rising and tugging at us like joy.
This is not an ending
and time has not been

unkind. We reach the edge
of our lives. We stop in awe
of how much further we have to go.