At dusk I wait for you, have waited
like the whisper of flies that are lost
on land and I am clutching the rails.
The wind is stronger than I, but my feet,
scarily, are becoming fixed
against the cold, deep stars.
They are drinking and speaking Portuguese
below and it's beautiful heard on water,
but in a different way, kind of
like a tale told over and over again
in an ancient language, or tonight
where our silence tells well of the living.
I wait for you, and laugh
at the thought of Parmenides on the sea.