Easter Island
Alexandra Ekkelenkamp

how often
have
these hands
clasped
stone lips
in
falling rain

in the village
people do not speak
great sadness

how often
have
wooden teeth
crushed
bone
painted fingers
in
a stone mouth

on this island
people cannot marry
great sadness

shores

two shores, apart
a river joins them together
	lie facing,
admiring each other,
soft contours
and luscious green slopes
now their own,
since the last angry flood
went away
and left them
alone in their comfort to heal;
	now jealously
watch one another
as the river,
dividing its time,
kisses each bank in its turn.
	they look to each other,
inseparable, needing,
on opposite sides
still secretly crumbling
in a river's
parting caress…