Armageddon takes its time. Inch by inch, the sea closes in on us. There is so little left to recognize. Only the top of the Trans Am Pyramid and the Hyatt to the south. Phantom landmarks in the fog.

The woman in gauzy blue passes us in a silver pirogue. With starry map and calendar she searches the waters of the Grant Street channel. Actually, I don't know how she navigates. Why not by the constellations? She is looking for something, we can tell by the way she peers into the water. It does no harm to speculate from the safety of high ground. There's little to talk about these days.

 

"She's looking for her house," you say in your matter-of-fact voice. "Can't blame her.

We're all in the same boat." You find this quite funny. I watch as you light your pipe. Your tongue hides somewhere in your beard. Like a moray eel. A dog's penis. I close my eyes.

"It's not about her house," I whisper.  

I can never see her clearly. Does the sky change or is it the seasons of the sea? I think it depends on the time of day. Morning, she's brightly energetic, young enough to be our daughter. By dusk, she slumps like an old woman. The shadows swallow her eyes and face. Her identity is fragile as her blue dress.

Pale snakes play in the waves. Notes like water. I love their music, love the texture of their skin. If I could swim, I'd join them. They'd share the secret, tell me who she's looking for.

The boards groan as you stand up. You'll be wanting dinner. I'll warm the soup.

The bread is almost gone, and when it is--what then? That will be up to you. We walk back to our makeshift shelter. You lead the way. I wonder what you'd say if I went ahead of you. First through the door, first to sit down, tapping fingers impatiently on the table.

Tonight I walk along the bank. Moonlight makes divinity of the fog. Melody snakes glitter the water. There is a sudden rush of wind and colors that are not colors but multiples of blue and silver. The sea is on my lips and the whole white night sings aloud.

And there she is, standing knee deep in the tide. I kick off my shoes and walk toward her, gasping as the cold water hits my legs.

"You've not enough strength. Take mine." She extends her hand.

 

END

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