Three of us sit on the parapet, dangling our
Sandals over the shore, the splash of waves
That reach for us. Easier to leave many things
Unsaid. The blind, giant beasts of cargo ships
Move across the waterline, bound up by rules
To enter the port. The cloudy sky like Tupperware.
We listen to the waves slapping onto the harsh
Seawall, soft bodies against the stone. Here one can
Observe the wake of things. I wish I had the words
To place against your sadness, like an ice pack.
Only dark curls of seaweed tossed in the waves.
And a windsurfer with his red wing, skimming
The water like a hot knife.