Finding Recorded in a Ship Log
Finally Dylan falls asleep. My face returns and finds
you sleeping too, after revealing who you are,
unraveling the knots that lashed us both together.
I look at you, the treasure of my deep-sea trawl,
and sort out the invertebrates, fish, corals, weeds—
the times you called the lab to say you were working late,
the grimace of your eyes whenever you groped my breasts,
the shadow swimming above your smile when I announced,
I’m late. You must be tired resisting the roll of the boat.
You sprawl in bed as on a lightbox, each muscle
delicate as scales, each gap a gasping gill.
Your loveliness must be preserved in formalin
and mounted behind glass, above the fireplace,
like a prehistoric monstrous white fish.