‘Hull’

And in the night when the only love you find
comes out of a bottle,

let the spirits pour
until you are empty of yourself.

Fill the vessel
with the words that surface in the quiet —

cast them
into the black waters that ache,
so they might find their way
to one who sails them the same.

To be read
by moon-sick light.

To be felt.

And if the stars are kind,
they might reach you
before you drown.