Boats knock softly in a harbor made of glass.
Each hull holds a different hour of light.
I press my palm to the water. It does not break.
It only remembers—
the tide, the rope, the name I almost said.
Boats knock softly in a harbor made of glass.
Each hull holds a different hour of light.
I press my palm to the water. It does not break.
It only remembers—
the tide, the rope, the name I almost said.