Cloaked in a fold of yellowing mist

he was very good at hiding his feelings.

Anyone could have foretold black wings at dawn; 

you don’t need tricked-out eyes in your head to see that.

Some of the women say they are sick of struggling 

with the sea. 

Who can blame them? A girl can weep sour tears into her hands 

for only so long.

Now A. says we were never married.

My hands go bone-dry.

Despite the certainty that always accompanies an e-minor descent, 

I wasn’t expecting things to unfold so literally.