Nights we became water, you and I,
our words driftwood on the surface.
Beneath, a tide began to slowly
pull you away from me.
Now the bed we shared becomes kelp
anchored on a foot of rock the sea
smoothed, like your stomach
against my spine in the year of water.
An evaporation of longing,
mist rolls in with all the clarity
a marine layer brings. I can’t see you;
all that’s left is a thin layer of salt.