when I was ten years old,
I walked on the beach
and tightened my young muscles
for you, inga –
I waded between stones –
I carried heavy pointed stones
to your port, inga –
I with my bare boy’s feet
in the clear seaweed-flowering water –
and you sat striding
with large eyes and firm round knees,
while I built port
for your ships, inga –
do you remember your mother’s long shadow on the water
and our red faces,
when we were ten years old, inga –