Salt leaves ridges in the wharf’s legs
two feet never negotiate
if water has no floor to wade.
When summer enters with the tide,
only the not human breathes long–
diastole, systole–soon or late.
You grow naked in memory.
I filled the rapture of your flesh
with fucking we shared easily
once our love was made sensible–
vagina welcoming penis.
We meshed so well I grew graceful.
I found your nighthouse only once,
your street too dark to feel at home.
Curtains covered your bay windows.
Downhill lay the sea, near the steps
I climbed the light to call your name.
You or your echo heard my voice.
We entered another harbor.
You stood where I scarred my forehead
when high waves pitched me into sand.
You stayed with me. But no longer.
The sky called so loud you answered.
Life was too brief to live with dread.
with love to Betty, 1938–2009
(27 May 2013: II)
copyright 2013 by Floyce Alexander