Kelp

This pliable, light-keeping amber stem, 
fleshed with sea leather 
and a hollow, reef-tapping cup 

is enough to take me into and beyond 
the six lyrical syllables 
that complete and illuminate your name. 

There have been other triggers 
for this mantra, in which air and water 
feature tellingly in its use 

and frequency: the yellow tail 
on the paper kite I made for our son 
rippled audibly, distracting him 

from where he stood at the waterline, 
throwing stones. He looked up, 
heard your name repeated 

in his father’s words, then turned 
his hand to finding crabs 
in the gritty seepage a lifted rock reveals.

Underwater footage of a kelp forest: 
tidal surge as wind in the tight, dark 
weave and sway of the canopy, 

and I return to find you in the bath 
with a flannel draped over your eyes, 
the dense, contained map lines of your pubis 

moving almost imperceptibly 
when you change position or thought 
beneath a dream-preserving cloth.

This amber stem. This long-tailed paper kite. 
To think of them is to say your name, 
again and then again, with love.