whitecaps

That day when he hadn't slept, the boy,
when he held your hand to keep
from drifting off, because the rip tide
in his brain is sure to pull him under —

That day he rubbed his mouth,
when he wanted to be close
to you, but he is no Moses, he
could not part the seas that separate you —

That day he descended the stairs alone,
without your hand, without, without —

The seas are in his brain —

A hurricane —

He is drowning —