We wait until golden hour, until the white shimmer of the midday sun loses its teeth. The heat blurry now on our shoulders, we take a bottle of cold wine and walk along the marina, listening to the wind plucking at the ropes, sending songs out to sea. We count the colors in the twilit sky. If we can name them we can travel to those places. We point out Spanish orange, roller rink creamsicle, Coney Island cotton candy, Florida flamingo. We see public pool aqua, deep blue lagoon, a grayish purple you call Merlin’s Forest. When the wine is gone we go back home, exhilarated with discovery, know that naming something is to see it, hold it up with soft hands, like your face in mine, a painting to see, and see, and see.

Handmade in the USA