Sateen Weave Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

You hang down,
O sateen weave
of rolling sea,

your soft waves
pulling me
in for a swim,
but you blow
into me

fewer feathers
of brushing
breezes
than the seashore
that folded
me up into its ripples
and waves,

riding them,
cycling
them with freestyle

and the rolling
side stroke
that plants me
into my davenport,

as I tilt,
cartwheel
and roll over

on the axis
of my ribs
and shoulders,

swimming
in you, floating
with you,

O sateen weave
hanging down
my window,

you've rocked me
like a baby
in the wavy cot
of your soft sea.

(ii)

As sun flashes
its gold
rays falling like
cream egret wings,
I miss
the gannets

perched
on a high rocky
sky-poking
sand stone

to prattle with sun
clacking out
songs swallowed
by humming
whirring breezes.

Let that wind
fly in
whispering
whistling
reedy flutes of terns,

as waves hammer
jagged
embankments
and chop off silt,
only to roll

back into the sateen
waves of fabric
pulling and pushing
the slide door
curtain of my house.

How I swim,
doing the back stroke
and the butterfly,
when clouds
crawl and fly
to sit on my broken head.