By Ocean Vuong
yellow plastic
black sea
eye-shaped shard
on a darkened map
no shores now
to arrive — or
depart
no wind but
this waiting which
moves you
as if the seconds
could be entered
& never left
toy boat — oarless
each wave
a green lamp
outlasted
toy boat
toy leaf dropped
from a toy tree
waiting
waiting
as if the sp-
arrows
thinning above you
are not
already pierced
by their own names
Source: Poetry (April 2016)
Poet Bio
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Born in Saigon, poet and editor Ocean Vuong was raised in Hartford, Connecticut, and earned a BA at Brooklyn College (CUNY). He lives in Queens, New York, where he serves as managing editor for Thrush Press. In his poems, he often explores transformation, desire, and violent loss.
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