At the end of afternoon, draped 
               in nightbird song, 
 when the last column 
 of sun, square as a plank, pours 
 gold through tall crepe myrtle 
 trees, their petals cool, in a 
 flat shade of green, and 
 you become my dreamscape.  
    When the sails are put away, 
          when the waters sleep, 
 we kiss; and I fall into 
 your arms.  
 When the waters sleep, we kiss; 
 and I tumble 
 to a seascape, to an endless 
 seascape of your ocean eyes.