If only we could lie within our own chests, looking up,
watching with distant eyes the shapes that drift there

I’d see the shape of a closed window and a light that won’t turn back on

I’d see the shape of a man with a child on his shoulders as they comb the beach in the throes of a storm

the shapes of anchored, restless boats that long for open water

a sunlit pier off which feet dangle and the drips of popsicles cascade into the sea,

and I’d see you