Seafaring Date with an Imaginary Woman

The sea burned in blues
with a white cloud of smoke.

You wore your foamy dress.
I my sailing pants.

The whole afternoon smelled
of clams and fishermen.

Of netting and schooners.

Something like a well-timed shipwreck
shuddered in our veins—and then
closing our eyes tight and being swept away
we’re suddenly conjugating the verb sand.