The dark is the sea that has soaked through,

dripping into buckets already full -

night-time in the day;

the granite blackened, the fields dimmed,

the moon in each headlight.

With each stroke of the paddle,

you tried to keep time with the sea - 

the blue pulling you deeper

into the undertow. In the gallery,

my small body of water

rests in front of your canoe

your final form, unmoored.