The Marks

Nguyen Bao Chan

For Dearest Marj

A grey-brown-eyed woman
leans on the sky’s reflection in the river
to go backward,
through the waves
The river flows constantly
looking for the water of yester-eve
She could not recognise the spot
where the old boat used to anchor

She is gone
with the rhythm of an intense wind
across the bridge
to reach a long empty beach
But the boat has left
It might be sailing to new ports
or sunk into the sea bed
sleeping there, forever...

The woman lies on wet sand
It touches her lush eyelashes
It kisses her soft lips
It caresses her slender body
She is swept along
She floats
She dives
to look for her own boat

Her warm marks left on the beach
are wiped away by the waves,
missed by someone unknown.