The island washed off of me
down the drain
into the arid dirt
it soaked the day up.

Radiating a brown hue
on my face
bouncing off the moon
at night, while she sinks
into the horizon.
Yellow, not full.

The line beyond twisted like
my full arching brow,
straining to see her sink
beneath, bringing balance
to the aqueous.

Still land is distant.
Akin to a dream,
even though it sits

coming
sprawling
open.