Now I remember what I might have had—
the chain swinging in a rising tide,
the settling of your anchor in my blood.

Starlings scratching on the roof, sensing light,
frogs returned to the chemistry of pond.
Now I remember what I might have had.

The gutter ticking to a sunrise world;
an afternoon afloat embraced in weed,
the settling of your anchor in my blood.

The rhythmic tug, a lapping sound on wood
turning me to face where we had been.
Now I remember what I might have had.

A shoal of bleak, us watching from the shade,
zigzagging in its ancient family mind;
the settling of your anchor in my blood.

Bare feet, us running on a rippled strand,
rain falling in a bed of just-sewn seed.
Now I remember what I might have had—
the settling of your anchor in my blood.