You'll find no ghosts
out at sea. On rafts or ships—
in forward imbalance.

We grope for the woody surface carelessly
like desperate non-swimmers would—
forget the breath of our betrothed:

our one thing we hold on to
and drink the wood in its place.

I can still taste air
but I'm far too tired.

I let my body take me
like seas take sailors

because I know someday,
I will sink headfirst into seabed and all our little kisses
will linger alongside me.

They will rest — and I will rest.
We'll wait for the day you learn how to swim
or dive.

(I was letting go and you would have wanted me to.
You told me once you wouldn't leave

until I let you go.)