Sailing Home

In the redwood house sailing off into the ocean, I sleep with you- our dreams mingling, our breath coming & going like gusts of wind trifling with the breakers, our arms touching & our legs & our hair reaching out like tendrils to intertwine. The first time I slept in your arms, I knew I had come home. Your body was a ship & I rocked in it, utterly safe in the breakers, utterly sure of this love. I fit into your arms as a ship fits into water, as a cactus roots in sand, as the sun nestles into the blazing horizon. The house sails all night. Our dreams are the flags of little ships, your penis the mast of one of the breeziest sailboats, & my breasts floating, half in & half out of the water, are like messages in bottles. There is no point to this poem. What the sea loses always turns up again; it is only a question of shores.