The pilot boats that
blinker the bay
await employ
envoy
greater ships to usher home
to sleep in slips and you
slide in beside me, to
chart the swells.

So standing stern we number
siren panes like
lighthouse lanterns, making
bright the wakeful yards between us
and the ferries
now fareless
for which we once
spared sums untold.

Now darken this flag, these
imposter squares and in signal
bend red light
over white
on our bows that want to break
in deeper seas: in here
you say, the narrow mouth may
swallow us whole.