Patrick Morris



hold together with broken twine
or, no
an ocean is too big to paint.
your red scarf only covered
the first half of your face
and kept falling like a curtain
drop. when you were by where
the rocks meet the sea you found
an old wet rope tied to one of
the logs. you asked me if I knew
whose boat it used to keep.
i looked at you and began to say
something but I forget. you looked
up at the grey and then tried to
loosen the ripped rope from the
wood but only strands came out.
the bed sheet later, when the
wind was more eager, kept flying out
of our hands and we chased it,
the sand slowing us down.