For Judy

I've slept with a woman like that
left feeling that I lack
the apparatus needed
for our ongoing happiness

From bog mud toes grow
flowers of infinite delicacy
it's deceptive

Yes, we shared things unique
on climbs through the caverns
of my sheets

Hands held tight
under the weight of coastal clouds
a lack of necessary propulsion:
moving but no motion

Like rocks jutting up
from the waves
our only movements

Down
beneath the loam,
under roiling foam