Ha Long Bay

They are watching the small glass box.
Moving pictures trapped and tapping against the enclosure
Pointing at them. Look! Look. They watched
As we glided past
Quietly.
•

We are cutting through dinosaur blood, depthless waters,
Weaving between spines of giants so ancient that trees,
Mottled green life has bloomed on its back.
These are Earth’s first residents and one day, I am sure, they
Will stretch from their sleep and become no longer
Mountains. These sleeping Godzillas
Whose breath ripples the sea and catches the light
From our tiny bobbing cabins. Where the waters
Squirm with reflections and the dark sky
Spins with light and music, they slumber
Around us and against the incessant movement, sleep
Still.
•

The waves had pushed its leftovers to the shore, stones under
Feet, stuck between toes and slippers. On the tiny palm
Offered by the karst, we disembarked where the sea slid
Away. The beach was crowded.
Nobody wanted to wade further into the shallows.
People picked flat corals and hurled them back to the waves.
Someone screams. Occasionally another boat glides past
And waves sneak up in photos. More screaming.
That afternoon was damp and blue, lazy, nothing,
As we danced on the white strip and listen to the sea
Swallow our voices. The rock faces that surround us
Bear testament to this moment and remember
Still, even when our memories are washed up
Bleached fragments, deposited at another quiet beach,
Away, too remote for the ocean to reach and love
Again.
•

They watch with less curiosity this time, the passing
Glowing box with two sides of full length windows, people
Mumbling, some still pointing: look, look. Inside
The cabin we watched the scene outside crawl smoothly
Across the window panes, moving pictures.
We watched the ending credits roll.
The age-old limestones watched us back.