dewy puffs drift and stir

pushing, tumbling little swirls of dust

dank, spicy odor of musty sails

too weary to raise a brow or notice the din

dry, starched and creased

from salty spray and foam,

baked stiff by an unsympathetic sun

design lost, forgotten

joy consumed

rapt in sadness and regret

the warm, beautiful breeze which is her

finding his dry canvas

she paints herself on scratchy pores

parched cloth eagerly accepting her reach

hurriedly gasping and drinking in each damp breath

she flows over imperfections, sensitive to every detail

yet noticing them not

her quiet approach

softens, smoothes, restores

tenderly ironing the majestic fabric which plasters him

that first breath, which stirred

patiently drawn, deeply

held for a moment, or an eternity

reluctantly released

exhaling whispers which glide over his steamy neck

known to only wind and sail

an unseen waterfall, flowing over tired spars

her carried mist, caresses and mends

the expression of herself, inexplicable, yet welcome

sails fill and bellow

raising outstretched arms well wide to accept all

he stands with eyes shut, ascends, then soars

naively they move as one, for a time

she spills over his leech

reaching toward solitude

that beautiful dance known only to water and clouds