Leaving Rhode Island White coral, lightless chandeliers, ship’s rigging etched in scrimshaw: last night’s wet snow weighs on the trees, keys of an old
for A 1. What would life have been like had someone walked alongside you, friend, met you on the other side of you and
becomes the only boat. Lays her body flat, bellying black water that sucks below the dock. Her chest a prow, her face the fixed