I have given away the sea.
It once moved me.

Here, when I raise my arms,
I leave no shadow. I have

given away the light.
So there would be

left to take from me.

I have given away
my hair, the silk

from my head, the blonder
threads from my limbs, from

the pubis—I’m all skin
now. If I keep

this up to bone
there will be no dark

left in me. I
gave away the parts—the soul

rose: a cloud, a sorcerer.
I had no hands to grasp it.

And so it got away
before I could give it.

The shore is a desert now.
I gave away the sea.

Lisa Hiton