Blue
There must be a sun out there
floating in the blue,
somewhere out of sight,
out of mind,
out of her mind.
He feels the heat on his belly,
his face turned sideways
into the blue shade,
his shoulders cool
against the plastic
that flexes
as he is rocked,
his heart an oblivious stone
suspended above
a dark plummet
by this thin blue skin.
His head is turned,
his face in blue shadow,
his eyes below
the crayon scribbles
of water meets sky,
one ear sounding,
one lulled with
muffled slaps
and drums.
For one clean moment
he is alone
unwatched
incapable
of laughing
too loudly,
of running
too wildly,
of being
more
or less
than,
free to float
in blue,
on blue,
under
blue.
On the sand,
she turns her head
just for a moment,
her eye caught
by a piper in the foam,
or the dull glint of tumbled glass,
and when she turns back,
he is gone.
Just a tiny plastic boat
bobbing on the waves.
Visions of logged lungs
and blue skin
are icy stones
that sink
into her belly.
She cries.
She leaps.
Creatures scurry
from beneath her feet,
the ocean parts
before the lightning
of her fear,
as she runs
with the speed
of dreams
towards that vessel
which has swallowed the world.
Closer she strains
and her crashing
stirs a thing
within it —
a knee,
a hand,
a blond-haired head,
appear as ghosts
above the fragile gunwale.
Her boy sees her,
he waves,
he laughs,
and her relief rains down as anger.
