dawn squeezes a fresh lemon
over the horizon
and the mast cracks,
spinnakers fling their half-moons
back to the wind. Again,
the ocean spits
sweat salt residue
from its muscular heart.
O for a stable keel,
white-lipped indigo waves
to kiss the horizon with light.
Where a swan may sculpt
your eyebrows into the midnight sun,
capture your colors as they trace
through the Stockholm Archipelago
to collect in bright-sailed sloops
and thread your smile through the islands.
I watch you as we navigate
beyond Uppland – there are no stars,
a groundswell slowly swallows my reflection.
You’ve become a current in the blue I drift on.
You’ve taught me to float like flotsam.
Is this the color of light?
An attraction without torment
seduces dolphins to dive too deep,
whales beach to reach gold in the dunes.
I want to feed on migratory seabirds,
drink the sweat beads between your breasts.
To drown beneath these waves
and leave behind their colors,
to find new light
in some tsunami