Interwoven Shores Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

O ducks
on earth,
walk
on rock.

On sea,
pull along
blanket

tarpaulin
waves

to wrap
you up
with wormy
ripples

planted
by deep roots

cemented
with the glossy
palms of silt.

Fly through
nylon
sheets of air,

when clouds
drift
on ladders

to a staircase
by sun's
crystal door.

(ii)

Showering
earth
with shot rays

diving into
flying
ants of rain

sinking into
ant holes,

and cracks
of interwoven
tunnels

bursting into
mounds
and the bumps
that trap

the slithering
lizard,
the beetle
and snails

waiting
to cross life's
bridge
for their turn.

(iii)

As ants roll
on light's
silver wheels
to collapsed

anthills
arching to be
rebuilt

into mountains,
and trees
of daylight,

their trunks
and branches
paving
wriggling paths

for the ants
to climb higher

than the sparrow
sneaking in
for a nibble,

a duck at sea
housing
the single ant

that bounces
back to shore
in a new tide,

the duck
still weaving
ripples
of air on land.