The water rolls out and out like everything going away from me. We watched those films spooled backwards and in them she leaps into the swing again backwards and that fall never happened and years later you never turned away and the glass unspills and I am never counting to 107 while I hold my breath I am counting back to one instead.
My foot taps, taps like knocking and the dock is a door. It was a door. I am running through doors in my head. Is there a statistic for how many doors the average person walks through in their lives? And does this statistic tell us whether they are coming in or going out? And that tap, tap, sends shivers through the wood like a heartbeat sent shivers through my skin when I felt yours against mine.
And the time is time. It comes and goes. The time. Me. It. I loved the ticking for clocks and the turning of numbers and the sound of a house at night where only the clock stays awake for all hours.
I loved you most falling asleep. I loved her most when her chest rose and fell and the clock ticked and I was awake just to watch everyone I love keep breathing. And the clock goes
and my foot goes
and my hand goes
on the door, on the door and it’s not there. The dock is a door.
The water rolls in and in and in and in and in until I am waiting again.