Sleep leeches out from the middle of blue, we watch ships sail by. We don’t know how to hail them, far off with their life-buoys, and our boat can’t navigate these colours. With cupped hands we shield our eyes from the sun, and looking down, notice life as viewed from behind- the -very -corner of a squinted eyelid, the way that it lets the light in just so. There are no ships. only our footsteps in the sand, trailing what they will of whispers.