One of those windless August nights
when the local wolves decide to serenade the moon
instead of blaming it, and the whales join in.
How long the song goes on.
Then swish, the mermaid wish becomes anything
we hope we need or want.
And granted, I’m only letting on everything
between kite tails & live bait.
And by now you’re busy explaining you chose
to emerge off Nova Scotia because
you didn’t want to make too much of a splash.
We stop talking, start playing either end of our line −
alertly reeling it in or gently running it out
but maintaining rod control no matter who or what
might end up overboard first.
Finally, who can ever
handle the ambidextrous exceptions between
fins & feathers or scales & tails?
Lifting, adrift, afloat & gone again
in the ocean of our own music, suddenly just us.
Then this lovely silver longing barely moving,
just a moment in the moonlight.