I am far out to sea,
newly wrought from when I had you last.
I have been reborn, reshaped
and set to sail into new currents
I mourn you still.
My phantom pains are sneaker waves,
the past colliding with the matter I have now become.
1600 days since you were taken and torn
but in your place
(that emptiness where you once lived)
filaments of the sun have been strung,
mapping out a blueprint of sorts,
a new topography that lights the core of me.
It is an unexpected grace.
What could not grow in your waters,
what I could not birth then
now escapes through my skin in finely stranded echoes of light,
an indirect labor
in the harbors of these new lands.