The Water Recedes by Cameron Russell
I’m ashamed to admit the number of mornings I’ve woken to assess my weathered hull and found your absence there, a thousand sticky barnacles I can’t seem to will myself to scrape off.
They weigh me down, sure but
I miss the even keel of your voice, even
when I was flailing overboard and
I miss the phosphorescent glow that flickered in the depths of your mind when you allowed me to bob below the surface.
