Up to the black and light-riddled surface,
they rise, shaking
out of nowhere, as memories
do from their depths, uninvited, merciless
and buoyant with uncertainties.
Tonight, seeing one noiselessly appear
in the breaking
lines of a full moon’s bright writing,
yards from the dock, I remembered your hair
on a night when we were fighting.
So much of it had fallen out by then.
You were taking
strands of it and strangling your thumb.
Strange what rises, red-eyed and unbidden,
with a beauty that strikes us dumb.