pull out the insides. Let the ocean wind
blow away the clinging silt. Show the sad man
the patch of rainbow where the waves crest;
right now there’s a distant ship sailing
through prismatic foggy light. Its hull is glowing
like the cake you made with your preschooler
the first time you played with multi-colored frosting.
Show him the child on the next blanket, laughing
into their ice cream cone. If only you could finger
that fudge, decorate the lines on the sad man’s face,
maybe then, he could let go
of that need to grasp words that float
like clouds he can no longer catch.
Once, he might have been a juggler,
pockets filled with scarves, fire torches,
day-glo balls in rainbow colors
landing true in his open hands.
Show him how to catch again.
Show him a hat-and-cane dance. Show him
the moon, even if he isn’t looking for it,
especially if he isn’t looking for it.
