The Coast Guard hut flew a blue flag
when the water blew thick and dark,
but you were inured to the pleasures
and risks of ocean weather,
pruning and sunning, tuned
to some other turning, whisk
of planets in motion,
blue plaid against blue,
the urgent rubbings of husks ¬
rasp, cusp, remote as a church
you took us, nevertheless
to the sand, cooled after dusk
and lay with us, just that once
pinwheeled around you
naming the constellations,
sash of the Milky Way,
luster, glitter, monsters of the hoven deep –
what cluster, riven, and gasp –
the bed that clasps you now,
your limbs flasks slowly filling
with milky, useless fluid,
I drag you out to the night,
fabric of Cassiopeia, elaborate and false –
what black sand comforts you,
what caustic and silver reckoning
flicker of instinct
tendrils of thick, white hair –
I call you, call you back from your brink –
once again you refuse me.