and your smile. Damp but not dampened, in pearls of spray.
Our drowsy boat nods
in the shallows. Even at night, gulls sail through cloaks of mist, flashing
sudden white and speckled wings. With one hand, you steady the skiff,
with the other, reach for me
as I step to the centerboard. Eddies whirl
around us. The little boat trembles. You let rough hemp
slide through your hands. Release the skiff
into the froth. Steer us into the current.
A tumbled moon sails over the water. Faint light caresses
your face. Your hands
slip into my shadowed places
Clouds race. Water plunges.
My breath. Your hands. We surge
downstream, laughing. Wild ride.
Splash of water,
taste of sea.
Mary Stebbins Taitt
for Keith Taitt
070309-2a; 1c, 11-10-02, 1st, at Niagara