I wander the beach sometimes where men stand with pants rolled,
fishing for shark. And I think I can find you in the wandering night
and set you close and kiss and, as we close our eyes,
make another universe in our private dark. And the sheets
will be like the linens dry upon the air and folded in the light when the
hurricane has gone away. You make words as I do. Make them into wings as I
will and meet me now.