he sailed today but the fog never lifted at all

dirty chalk skies smelling of salt and rain were his garments

and i watched until it seemed that he was fully dressed

i still searched for his kiss on the air from the palm of his big hands

i was sure the raindrops cradled them in arms outstretched

lip prints on nothing but time and space and ghostly mists

so i opened my arms to embrace his lips to my chest, sighing

gentle, gentle, a stillness complete and drifting on my skin

how could i not return the next day when there was nothing

nothing but waves and lighthouses calling to widowmakers

nothing but my footprints left beside his very own steps

yet a flicker of light on the way to the edge of the shore

in my head, it is with me now, always, always this fog

in my pocket a compass, a locket, a tissue and his keys

to guide me to his bed in the small blue house across from me

where i will sleep for a week curled up in the memory of his voice