Fog horns bleat from foreign flagged ships along the Western coast

many miles from my home. My wife, “You must have dog ears.”

From under my bed sheets, “Maybe I’m just oversensitive to those kinda things.”

Rolling releases sweat. It joins the sea blowing in through our cracked window.

Many miles from my home: my wife. “You must have dog ears,”

says the Captain. “You ever miss something so much that it gets inside of you?”

Rolling releases sweat; it joins the sea. Blowing in through our cracked window,

salt water mists my eyes. I wince.

Says the Captain, “You ever miss something so much that it gets inside of you?”

We were together for three years and I’ve never heard that sort of talk.

Salt water mists my eyes. I wince

because I am sleeping alone for another night.

We were together for three years and I’ve never heard that sort of talk

from under my bed sheets. “Maybe I’m just oversensitive to those kinda things.”

Because I am sleeping alone for another night,

fog horns bleat from foreign flagged ships along the Western coast.