The Sea Horse
It was transparently still in the water
just the kick of a stone from your foot.
You said, “I’ve never seen a sea horse live before.”
But it was hardly alive. It was clear glass,
bones in a cold sea, passionless.
You curled your warm fingers
away from mine. They were lying too close,
just the thinness of skin away.
I felt the cool still air come in between.
Then the sea horse drifted away,
dissolving, with not even a crack
in the clear curve of the water.
And you stood up, kicked a stone
and went back to the car.