Maybe the island is herself.
And the eels, everywhere.
Is it even an island? Water?
Or maybe it’s not-water.
She longs for, she desires, the shore
Following the shipwreck.
God keeps wrecking the ship, though.
And he keeps asking her to get back
on the ship.
And he keeps wrecking the ship.
Does he wreck the island, too?
The sea is too deep.
The stream is safe.
The stream is contained.
The stream has borders, and I can see
the other side.
These marshes don’t even merit the
name of a stream.
Can I trust you in the sea?
I don’t see the other side.
I’m scared of drowning, but here we
are.
Jouissance.
Or maybe only partly.
Do you love me?
If you love me, you will keep my
commandments:
Get back on the boat.
But the sea is so deep--
Isn’t it? Don’t you know?
If we are the island, can we ever
drown?
I’m scared
