Days were spinnakers and three cornered hats
unconcerned with staying on, full of air.
Dawn became the salmon line beneath that
falling satellite, I had ceased to care
if darkness once disguised it as a star.
My thoughts forgot their place inside and mumbled
words were dropped from wounds before the scar.
Improperly, the world had slipped and stumbled,
reality had strayed. Your eyes stayed fixed,
upon my gaze. You kept me under-wing
in vacant walks from house to yard, through mixed
up dreams, you, listening to everything.
Not even once you left your place beside
the polar north in me. I came to know
your leaning in and waiting on my tide,
that otherworldly love I felt you show.
You watched me sleep, protectively as grace,
so gently licked my hand and tearstained face.