And the tiniest gods create oceans to die.
The water in his glass fills up with light.
By the cheeks of the dandelion-freckled bays,
Ships sniff at the mouths of whales.
On the deck discussing coastlines,
Travel brochures shuffle, like gulls in her hands.
It’s a vacation, she laughs, breezily,
Like a sailboat, he’s only half
Where she wants to go;
He betrays himself,
He thinks how the Sienna coast
Tears the light away from the sea,
The difference between
Never being that way again
And being stranded there.