Anicca

These voyages and tides
For some brief decades
Washed together and became infinite:

Conch, starfish, sand and seahorse,
Once rolling under Caribbean waves,
Now dappled dry beneath glass,

By sunlight rippled from the wrinkled creek,
Through Victorian roses lashed with spray,
And white-framed bay windows.

A map of Oslo in a sea of books;
A once-lush carpet hunched on shrunken boards;
Naval compasses and warships' shields.

I mistook this anchorage
For the safety of a harbour;
Like your head on my shoulder when we woke.