Once, we were pending
by the mouth of the Atlantic
and you touched my hand
and all the world stood still
enough to hear the birds
slipping in and out of the ocean.
Their plunges
cracked the reflectiveness.
The water behaves like a mother, kissing
the slick feathers, pulling so gently as to
embrace the heaviness the electricity
within the warmth of their bodies.
The water behaves like a mother
and laps against tower foundation.
The percussive splashing
echos the healing, the song
of black holes
swimming into each other.
