We sat upstairs while they slipped her into a bag.

The air is full of waves

You’re practically a star already, they’ve torched so many cells.

No one believes in touching any more

Every morning I used to pray and, no lie, the gaze of the ocean-maker was what I felt.

Sweet green under our feet / all the winter branches go up in smoke

For years I knew I had done something unusual.

As if he carried a piece of sky into a brown field

Driving over today, I spoke to my ex; he recited my history, reminded me of the old score.

Now, in a quiet moment, collect your things.

Feet like running water have shallowed out each step, stairway scoured white and smooth as shell.

…and two pears with a jar of wine wait on the table for when he wakes.

Alone behind his truck, lit up / in magnesium haze, he turns / a little orange wheel, / some apparatus out of sight.

And from here of course, whatever I tell you is wrong.