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.