From the window,
a boat in the bay,
but still I stay.
I keep unlacing
your boots,
checking your mouth,
looking in your
dark places for bites.
A cat’s cradle
crowds the sky.
There is a difference
between dying
and wanting
to die, between
untethering
that little blue boat
and just watching
the sunlight
glare off of it,
sometimes so bright,
I have to cover
my eyes.