by Sean Wiebe

Into the empty boat, I force my white
body, choked with cold, careful
that even the slightest sigh or slow
casting of words does not break

the moment, poured out and passed
along like the sea foam floating
up, oxygen bubbles from all
that's bitter in the deep zone.

I see you sometimes in our daughter
chasing whales across waves
beyond us, where warmth
can be fathomed more easily.