that wanders between the traffic lanes. Who
held you up? The shore laps wetly
at my toes, the small of my back is blue

from the absence of your hand. Your alarm clock
woke me up, kept me from veering off
into the seaweed now tangling round my sock

and up between my big and little
toes. The GPS isn’t quite as loud. I’m
short on sleep, my nails are brittle

with bite marks. You’re not here like you said; where
are you again? Did you leave your phone number
attached to the windshield? It’s gone, I said I would share

my everything with the sea. I see the swan
and it’s brighter than I remember, it’s like
my blinking LED screen, reflecting my wan

face: rerouting. Dear, I’m not lost yet. There are
two, three, infinite paths. Soon you’ll be
sighing in your sleep in the back of my car.