I’m waiting in this rowboat
and chewing on bullets. Bring me my hands
and tell me the story where the lovers
find each other again. Tell me
she had no regrets, that they weren’t
                                                        sleeping with glass
and grief, that the lilies weren’t blooming
in the wrong direction. Open that jar.
I was naked with you once. I’m listening
for the sea, but all I hear is bang.
Did you believe in signs?
Hand me your gun.
These birds are too close.