Somewhere in between mouthfuls I look up. I look up and catch your eyes across the table. Mid-air, hovering wet. Break. Break. With a breath I pluck them both, scoop them up from somewhere above the water pitcher, and put them in my pocket safe. Blinking, we continue. – Punch…

Went to the sea last night, first act after landing, And came to the water’s edge (alone and without seeing, across the wide berth of the shore), stumbling upon it nearly with the strips of washed-up tang And felt the sting of very cold water swirling at my ankles and…