The Second Corollary

I was born on your stone Salt on my face You rose through the tide Black against gray Now the water takes more Each season, each span I watch your hard shoulder Sink back to sand In the dark under foam Your shadow grows thin The line on the cliff Keeps crawling in I lay my small shelves Where your cold ridges were Stone by stone, grain by grain I climb for your light Tide after tide I hold what I can Salt in the cracks Salt in my hands The sea keeps its pull The years keep their pace So I reach higher out And keep your shape Hold to the light Hold to the light I ring your silence Hold to the light Up through the salt Up through the night I ring your silence Hold to the light Your peak goes dim Your edges go wide The lagoon fills slow With moon and sky No wall left standing No black ridge above Just pale ribs below And a clean blue hush Tide after tide I hold what I can Salt in the cracks Salt in my hands The sea keeps its pull The years keep their pace So I reach higher out And keep your shape Hold to the light Hold to the light I ring your silence Hold to the light Up through the salt Up through the night I ring your silence Hold to the light Then the last stone slips Into deep green calm The rim stays bright Around the still lagoon No height remains No cliff, no crown Only a ring of coral Where your shade came down Hold to the light Hold to the light I ring your silence Hold to the light Bright in the salt Bright in the sky I keep your shape now Hold to the light

Two-twenty-seven, nightlight, your head beneath my chin, the kitchen blinds drawn in. your bare feet on mine, held tight, and no one's reached to turn the radio on. Leave the radio alone, there's a freight train keeping time for me and you, thumpity thump, all our own, the horn for a chorus, coming in on cue. The car keys where they were thrown, two mugs on the table, neither touched since four, your phone face-down on the stone, a coat still buttoned on the chair by the door. Leave the radio alone, there's a freight train keeping time for me and you, thumpity thump, all our own, the horn for a chorus, coming in on cue. The horn blows long, long, short, long, at the cotton gin, again down by the mill, each one farther, not as strong, the water trembling in a glass on the sill. Then the last car's rattle quits, and the house goes still, like water in a glass, but neither of us admits we're swaying to a train that's already passed. Leave the radio alone, there is nothing keeping time for me and you, no thumpity, all our own, no horn for a chorus, and we're still on cue. Two-twenty-nine, the nightlight, and no one's reached to turn the radio on. Two-twenty-seven to two-twenty-nine, prime time for a dance with mine.