Knee-deep I wade, wait for you to surface,
verdigris face gleaming in oily bog.
There was an ocean between us once.
I thought of Morocco, the salt crust
thick on your lip corners, rusty taste
of nails. The silt hardpan broke away.
He sold you off, that prince of winds
for a dozen eucalyptus trees.
With a razor strop he belted you west,
honeyfied sister. You wrote of rain
shadows: the moisture mirage
that never came. Leeward, they crept along
cliff-face, dwarfed clouds. I hear the beat
of insect hearts. The cortege waits for no one.
I wish I’d taught you how to button yourself,
to hide from exposure. Cranes bugle, scythe the grey sky.