NEAP

Rain dimples the water,

under furled sails; the

gentle rise and fall of

the hull is a quiet

bass drum to echo

like distant thunder.

Someone is reading,

in the tight, teak cabin...

unaware.

A wavering line of

yellow light from inside

the distant sloop

shimmers to the shore

outside my window,

as nebulous as clouds,

while I cling to the

memory of sunshine

when we used to

weave our bodies

into spinnaker dreams in

that sweet calm before

the storm pulled you

out to sea.