Out at sea, each night
is long. Each night
has one sound I know:
the moon against the water
like your cheek across mine
in another life.
I am finding a way
to reach where you are.
I am thinking of lighting
the voice on fire.
Of lighting the dark oil
of the sea on fire,
each drop a note
singing the daylight up.
Listen—I am
trying to send you
a human sound,
which is bones
cracking to bend an arrow
back, a long whistle
of a body you remember
because it remembers
yours. We are built
to live in each other.
This means we are built
to ruin. Each night
I dream back another piece
of you—an eye,
a ligament—and each day
wake on the water
with another hole.