beautiful sea

"sweet dreams" we say and i stand, waiting in a halo
of light as you wave and drive out of my court
your edges have been unravelled and your seams have been torn

and your eyes are like ocans, retreating and returning to me.
i have no needle and no thread and no sand.
ah, an island, an island, if only i was landscaped
in rocky shores and diving cliffs like some tropical travel brochure.

i never learned to quilt or cook and i'm useless with jigsaw puzzles
and you say "i'm going to die before i'm forty"
so i pull you in or climb onto your lap and curl
in the circle of your neck
to hold all of you, the assured absurdity, the barbed wire worry,
the broken glass anger and the jagged sidewalks of memory.

"oh beautiful," i want to say, "my beautiful, beautiful damaged sea."
but i only breathe in your skin and kiss your forehead.
it is three in the morning, october 13th, your twentyfirst birthday,
and i will always, 

 keep a place for you.