atlantic
  pacific

i often wake three hours before your sunrise calls for a response logbook already soaked with ink we laugh, but even if we could, why constrain our outporings?

one winter day you ask for notes on undersea strings aware of both the timbre and tempo of these songs we start singing together

i fall into an evening rhythm talking and yes moaning into the phonograph, my head then swallowed by the brassy cone our voices sound better inside

when you open your ears again there’s so much weather to hear : wind and rain and quiet calm that lasts too long and means too much we keep sailing even without a map

true, land divides us more than sea, but these two coasts call to us both maybe it’s the sirens or the sounds of wavecrash against the shore — the dangers of unfathomed depths