Is there anywhere else, in our god’s well-crafted land,
where all my weight is off again, where all my weight is off?
I conceived of soaring high but that’s someone else place—
for my name comes from the other, my name is from the sea.
It is far, it is far, it is far from me.
To the sea I go,
to the island I should know,
where strangers say my name.
And in their hands I’m back in mine.
They left for Saint Martin—
just an island in their minds.
And in my mother’s belly
the sea became my name.
Well, hello, my flippery feet—
you have turned your noses south.
Do you think we’re on a journey
to where everyone’s been but me?
Is it far? Is it far? Is it far from me?
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