Years ago there was a boy who lived at sea.
(of course they were all boys back then)
He washed up on my shore and
I took him in, listened to his stories,
learned the details of his planks and rigging.
I took him into me.
The first time we kissed was
in the rain on Providence Street,
and I still consider it one of the
most beautiful moments of my life.
There’s something to be said
for kissing in the rain.
And now I see a boat in the distance, sailing closer,
carrying dreams across the sea.
Is it too much to hope for?
Is it too much?