--- A N Y S S A   K I M

frightened we may lose ourselves 
further   we escape
from one entropical island
to the next
never further washed away 
from the explosive
solitude of our beginning  
battered between cobalt seas 
of legitimate names
we grow interested
in cramped spaces
in secret, wincing at 
unclear images of a self  
through corrugated glass 
frosted over, lest we are caught and 
broken, we hold an empty history 
to our breast, like water spat out 
of salt, a thirst that keeps us
searching through arterial dust