When you cry,
I see a sailboat on your back,

but float through clouds,
their evaporate:
morph substance-less.

Taking us back to when you
thought we would be dead,
by tomorrow

and the rain let up,
though we still could sail

in its thundering paint,
like leather beads. I rolled in
the canvas, laid our name

on the vessel’s curtains.
Every glitter sparks,

this weather under our feet,
shaking and sand-greens
better than last sea.

I breathe salt when you can’t
sleep, my angel’s peach.