she looks at me, mid pub, and asks
in a way, rhetorical
as if she knows something
I don't and will never

"why do you live on a boat?"

for the sounds of raindrops
above my sleeping head
for my conversation with dawn
always the same woman
uniquely dressed

for ebb for flow for light
light such as it is
it informs, comforts, and listens
for breeze, whiped

for a wild mirror
pitched at an angle
past me
to show truth

for the lone swan
whose visits mean more
to me than it

for the years that should have taken
yet didn't.

for the woman I'll know I'll meet
who speaks in the dialect
of unaware kindness
dresses in the clothes of realism
and sings in the key of smiling

for ropes for knots
bowline
single sheet bends
carrick bends
reef
anchor hitch

arteries around
this chamber of peace