I've lost something at sea
and am at a foreign island to find it.
It is a reflection on porcelain,
some beautiful monstrosity.
Here maps do not say, “You are here.”
They say, “Here is everything else.”
I went on a boat ride
seated next to the absence of a boy,
who snuck in my backpack
between my pants and socks.
It is hard to lose
what you do not have.
I've travelled from a land
where history robbed us
during the night of the world.
History has just arrived here,
after a long lingering lull
its waking yawn
is a stream of water
from the merlion's mouth.
Good one.