We have not seen the moon since we arrived.
All these nights of dark, and stars, and song,
all these fears of returning to the world
that feels so lost but has been there all along.
If I could roll over and over in this water
between reflections of Orion, Gemini
Ursa Major, over and over between dark
and light until I lose all sense
of up and down, here and gone,
air and ground, melt into a liquid peace,
what would I feel but happy,
what would I find but release?
The sun sets softly, suddenly, this far from home.
I’m sitting in my underwear below the veil of a mosquito net.
When I close my eyes I still see the Lake,
the trees, and you. So easy to be lost in this longing.
For a moment, I’m sure I see the particles that make up the world
and you, and me, and her, dancing in their perfect glory
while we dance around each other, imperfect, sometimes discordant,
sometimes in tune. A broken-hearted melody.
Earlier, in the water, I was sure my heart would break right out
of my chest. My breath, like an erratic bird, would carry it away.
My precious heart. My precious breath. This precious life.
Too much, too much, and yet never enough.
Ways of Being
My whole life has been a journey to
this boat, this land, this moment.
Firing up my heart amidst
dark mountains, green water,
a box of bananas by my feet.
I am finding ways to be human,
to let myself be seen.
Just another small spark of humanity.
Here at last I burn.
Sophia Argyris was born in Belgium, spent much of her childhood in the north of Scotland, and currently lives in Oxford, England. Her work has been published in several journals including Magma, Prole, Reach Poetry, Structo and Under the Radar amongst others. Her collection “How Do the Parakeets Stay Green?” was published in 2014 by Indigo Dreams Publishing Ltd.