Her feet dip into the water
so smoothly that it seems she walks
above and not below.
It is her misty grays and imperceptible greens
that are haunting the lids of your eyes
as you toss on the ocean that could not be more still.
She showed you how the lines of your palm
resemble ripples and furrows
cut like a plow by the bow of a ship.
You remember candles that refused to light
her stormy eyes and thick hair buffeted by wind
even when the air was still.
She never sang for you
but you can taste her salty song on the tip of your lips
under the weight and balance of rocking.
She dances now and though you cannot see it,
her able feet are leaping
with the "weigh hey" of a hoarse sailor's cry.
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