Long after you have swung back
away from me
I think you are still with me: you come in close to the shore
on the tide
and nudge me awake the way a boat adrift nudges the pier:
am I a pier
half-in half-out of the water? and in the pleasure of that communion
I lose track,
the moon I watch goes down, the tide swings you away before
I know I’m
alone again long since, mud sucking at gray and black
timbers of me,
a light growth of green dreams drying.