Shelter is the warm night on the deck
of a boat that has sickened me with
sea swells all day, that has settled late
to let me sleep along with the others:
kicked aside shoes, thick coils of rope,
the stars, the moon, the steady call
of water, the shape of my lover after
he has made our bed behind the captain’s
wheel. He breathes like the sea breathes.
Tucked against the cove of his arm,
I see the dark sky lit up one more time
before I drop anchor, shut the roof of
my eyes, and then rest before I sleep.