I feel it in my fingertips when you tell me how you worry. I feel it most in my ring finger— Isn’t that strange? The sea in my ribcage tosses, and your Navy boat of which the name I forget rocks upon it. You are unsure if you’ll be coming home on time.
I watch the waves from the opposite coast, making note of how tall they are, how dark, and suddenly I am in them as they are within me. They beat against the undersides of my skin, so hard that I pray for the first time in ten years, asking God to watch over us, to bless this gorgeous thing we have.