Reaching for the wind in the branches,
tickles fingertips like a feather on your thigh.
In the water, you plumb the sea for cloaks of stingrays –
the ripples cradling your body.
You lay there until your feet and hands looked like crumpled paper,
body a breathing corpse
having been diving for coins like a fish trapped in a well.
Nothing stays buried – your hands belong in the shadows.
I never thought I would see you here in this place
where words are cheap and lies are free.