overlook rooftops, three-quarters sky
she’s white like insomnia, overshadowed by
snow, gusting the gaps in the buildings
gutting gasps out of air, breathlessly,
you remember fog and the way it left the ocean
the way it left the ocean to kiss your skin
how much it hurts to be landlocked is more
than the fear of no return instilled by water ever was,
watching tiny bodies waddle through furious winds
noses runny and red, arms fat with fabric, reaching for doors to perform
an act of disappearing
and while you stare at a single hooded figure
putting foot in front of foot, crossing the courtyard to warmth
the sky will use the privacy to perform an act of transformation
she will become cerulean, and once again you can't breathe