I do not know where or when, but I saw the walk and sat at your table, full fledged and parted.  Sea parted for you and your eyes, that stopped to see me close and held me. Captive.
As willing as the tight river running down it's mountain.  So clear you asked if we could drink it.

Further tides to be carried in, on a wash over footed paths, smocked stones piled flat, heaped and scooped, fir tracked in backwards, with a lazy step, a drag, to the shore tied branches
And underneath a man lay back, indigo ragged and gone from the day, his female, his woman, curtained as a float, spectored highness, an awful thing, buttoned and pride vested, carried no fir, no stones, but held her head, went to lay by her man, thrummed and rushed asleep by the salty wet

Startled bits, flame bright, quarter edged and full, my guts, my flay, bunished by your spill, your quick tongue thoughts, your seconds to spare

It's a heady sweetness broken by red line thrashing, a throttle tight arch, I touch your ruffled edges, as a fledgling might feel, to my hand a grab for the truth through fog and story

Is there a song I can sing for you?  In my own hidden head voice, can I show you how sitting easy is here, sky is smooth above, feet are lost under me, countless parts from countless parts, what is it in the eye that says I see that sky in you, I see your countless parts, all your captives born free

This is the surrender, the pulling away of the taken bits, ripen lines slacken, looking out past the past tense, to see the place the shadow points fall, to know a steady breast, to feel the reach of my own sturdiness 

the song of a quiet float, no thing to lay to rest, all arms, legs whole hung, over sides, over bed rails, a song of the emptied body, flank tipped right side up, to wait for his morning, to see him seeking again, so full and proud