We met in the southern harbor,
Your cerulean gaze absorbing my creosote heart,
Your fingers like spine bones on a clothesline.

Come give me my soul again:
See, where it flies!

Children play in front of a fountain...
Stories I told you of bees disappearing.
I am equally afraid.
My gutter heart fell then and again.

Come give me my soul again:
See, where it flies!