and the moon rose dripping from the sea
certain then it had to be
dark wind and thudding collapse
Tresses on a clamshell in a gale
flying fish and mollusks bent the stars
they'd read too much
the sting of salt the spark-blown fire
How much they wanted then
the French engraved on the ring she gave
sliding years what would have been
and could not be
and could not be
When the moon rose dripping from the sea
