When I sink to bed the sea lies still downstairs
and the sun is as always ahead.
I’m fixing myself, a detail cut out
of dark water. And later I’ll be by the boats,
sails light as uplifted voices and almost,
among the laughter of gulls, light-hearted.
Yet in this ring of his I stand slanted
at a date. And I see how, that far off,
he’s rising with another sun. Slapdash. Again.
He called me Flower. Then Spring, Sexy, Sweetness,
Sweetest, Sweet, but lately more and more
RatherNot, NoLater, Please.