from the Greek πλαγκτός (plangtOss), for drifter

My years still hold the girl
who smiled quietly, followed,
said yes, and yes, and yes
to the dying boy with one leg,
her moody pirate, her buccaneer.

Hijacked, she leaned against the rails
halfway between Paris and New York,
tuned to the rocking, even as she slept,
of deep sea fields and flickering diatoms,

luminescent glitter in the dark blooms. 

Did he? did he? others ask.
 
I tell of oceanic love letters, sparkling
neon blue, of being sea-healed.