Knots

Hands,wind chapped

twist and loop

Here

Clove hitch

I take the rope

white and smooth 

like hands that have never tacked into the wind

Look

Square knot

He pulls it loose

Again

Scratch at crimson stained deck 

Where toes were painted

Pay attention, girl.

Good sailors must be alert. 

I take up the rope again 

Over, under, pull

Figure Eight

Look 

Dipping sun 

Steals our light. 

He takes my rope, 

And I am up, up, up

On his shoulders

Back toward home 

and sleep

The taste of salt in my throat. 

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