The ocean climbs the beach in search of salt.
It chases off the piper. It licks away
The driftwood. Mulling over his latest fault,

He’s made her ordinary, spread her slim
seventeen years across this table,
measured her tight little head,

I see it like a movie screen:
salty green horizon, cloudy blue water.
You step, a pillar on the deck,

Six years have gone since I have been loved
by you. All appearances have been more or less
phantom. There is a boy, now, applying for your job.

If I had known I'd reduce you to this,
I would've stopped myself along the way
to see the shape your shoulders took—

Rapunzel had her hair. All she had
was a phone she couldn't dial out on
and a second set of sheets—twin-sized

What we have         before us, obviously,
is the intestine.         So why, you may wonder,
did I call you         to the operating room

 On summer days at the swampy edge of the river
   He would bundle his shirt and shoes, his pantaloons
         And drawers on the dry bank

A yacht at night strung with lights on the black
tide rolls to the rhythm of a trio playing
"Waltz for Debbie." The Milky Way looks on

Silver crashed and the lights went out in Ashcroft.
A century passes in a dream.
Some houses stand,