IF BREATH IS AN OCCASION FOR MEMORY
Underwater what the heart can do.
And the lungs—absentminded, wish
like reaching for her, like saying her name.
Open to every watery or lucent, every
incomprehensible thing: hands unfist and
the rushing to fill them. Sea sway unhurried;
dear devoted tide draw the long vowels out.
Painstaking articulation still every word is O.
Wherever you are, imagine the spent form turning
in the current like a song; imagine her hair.