Knees, knobby and bruised like the hands of an old sailor.
Shipwreck, too. Iodized salt in a fresh wound;
so long as it never heals!
The waves crescendo like a group of timpani drums
as if there’s a monster in the depths below us;
so long as it’s never real…
what is there to fear?
I’ve seen colors on her legs that I haven’t seen since.