They grew up watching the salt scattering flight of gulls,
the horizon and the chaos of waves. By day, they waited for ships.

Every night, when the world fell asleep,
they walked into the sea. It was like entering their past.
Their feet disappeared first, then their legs, their necks and lips.

They liked to think that somewhere in the pitch black
they would find their beginning, that they would finally be comforted.

–Nora Nadjarian, ‘The Islanders’