it wouldn’t have been as stunning,
the sun in it’s witness.
it would have been cunning
if the wings coyed flightless.

but a cloud blanketed today,
a lost ambition within bare arms,
black waiting water her
fascination’s prey.

the smell of seagrasses,
the smell of foulness,
life leaving room for death’s anchor-

the spurned sun.

if it weren’t for you
I’d kept away.

if it weren’t for you
I’d remembered

to keep in-between being
wet and melty and
forsaken.