You first-time snorkeler

head burrowed, missing much

riveted to the fact of water

You literal, now, assemblage of old hopes

hope can sharpen against

When we learned your eyes had unsealed

we stopped telling anyone your names

You spin cycle of sleep and hunger

You moon-print pressure

through the surface of her dress

knocking without asking

crazy for electric bass and basketball crowds

You pressing through

the surface of address

Papaya-sized, once a lemon, once a figment

Hazard to dip

one shoulder lower, then snake yourself

through the straits of bone

You wonder, roughened

You doubt, familiar

Ash swirled down the sky

blew back and forth

when you were just the crooked shelf I’d built

the calendar reminders when to try

Helicopters now

the thrumming almost constant

in Berkeley’s raw-glare May

You yard of jewelweeds

you week of circled days