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.