A toast to something beautiful flapping in the wind

To something beautiful flapping in the wind above the

beach houses—A blue bird?—No, a blue bag. 

 

To her breath— raindrops in the begonia bed.

My eyesight is rainstorms.

 

            Drop,

 

                                    drop—

  

To 4 a.m., her first ocean—

Everyone is sleeping

except Oona and the ocean, 

Oona and the ocean.  

 

I try to explain in whale song I try to explain in

cloud and water droplet.

  

                        Drop, 

 

 

drop—

 

Spending time with a baby is spending time with something that has lived her entire life in an ocean and just sprouted legs for land—

 

I am Copernicus using the planet of my body

to umbrella the wind

as she feeds—Ouch!—

 

I stick my fingers in her mouth

and she’s grown sharp little fish teeth—

 

                                                Drop,

 

Everyone is sleeping except Oona and the ocean,

Oona and the ocean

and the little fish teeth.

 

                                           Drop,

 

                                                                        drop,

 

                       drop

 

            drop,

 

I tell time by counting teeth-marks around the crooked nipple.