beautiful people and their beautiful dreams and you
extrapolate your skin, a net of pink flesh a sunset
he stands by the pier, waiting
behind him the waves trickle, splash, tease, hum.  calm, and his
hands are shaking.

there are a million doors to everywhere, cream and
gray, crippled snow the day is long the
night is longer.

you take a step.  the painkillers eat at your shoes, scatter themselves on the
boardwalk.  the sun lived in the hand of this man once, now it is gone and he
waits.  nothing is ready.  his boat is in disarray.

because you can't go to him.  because you must, because he
cannot forgive himself and you can.  because you
cannot forgive yourself and he can.  the painkillers are
blooming between the gaps of wood, air-flowers in bright red, lips
singing by your toes below them the sea

because if people who can't forgive themselves find others who
can because if people who can't chart their own
course can borrow someone else's boat for a while just for a

he can't speak.  the saltwater and tentacles are beautiful have got his
beautiful throat.  his eyes remind you of rich thick mud in the rain when the
city is shimmering gold with water and you stand inches away not
touching and there is nothing left but to say it's ok your
boat will be ok and you will be ok and we will
meet again and please don't