'Are you asleep?'Like a door that always openson the same empty closet,the old jokey questionyou can never answer 'yes' tois a snap, in comparisonto 'Where are you?'
Moving, wherever you are.Even your stillness on the back seat takesthe bent of action, a kicking reachthrough swells and drifts of afghan.My live question mark,are they salt or sweet, the watersyou riddle?
Asking gets me as faras ladling water with a net.Though I can catch your smallbeached foot, and hearsoft waves of breath, the meshof senses isn't fine enoughto land you now.
When you come back,you'll rub the sand from your eyesand know nothing of where you've been.Love is like that: the elementwe breathe and move through,untouchable and alwaysthere.