Port of Helsinki

These plates are spinning
away from me

raising a bouquet 
of lupines and white birches
to their family in the sky

This place will take 
any form
of the past it can get
with statues of old
conquerors pretending to 
lord over

the smell of cinnamon
and blueberries
and salmon swimming
in a jet-colored sea where

the ships are leaving
away from me

and the trees
keep reaching 
longer than I,
they have more faith
in their family
in the sky

and I 
speak as though
I am
even reaching at all,
as if
the plates don’t
go on spinning
without me —

they never
crash to the floor,
they get passed
and they collide


but the waves
roll on
away from me.