Tall Ship

A gentle trough of skin 
like velvet

seems an odd design
for a boy's neck or 

a horse’s nose. Yet here 
I am. Your Lego seascape 

spread on the floor, and me 
mid-hover like an off-course 

shorebird. Do you see 
me flounder? I conjure ways 

to return to float in that swirl 
of hair tip top 

your small head—to drift
a little longer—a buoy 

in the current of our story.
This is the movie I play 

on repeat, me 
swooping in just on time

when you choose one day 
to go. I want to touch 

your neck—hint of sweat 
and dip of earlobe—your hand 

brushing mine away. There is 
no bird. I am a channel marking

a way, and you 
are long gone to sea.