When my grandmother,

Jarreau,

Crossed the Gulf of Mexico…

She tore the mast, but left cast a lifeline

From your city

To my missing spine…

Where now a wooden replacement

Does grow.

So, I met you in

The Nightmare Realm,

And I held you, caught up

In the misty spray of the waters

That have no life in them

Because in that place

Beneath an eyelid sky,

All that mattered was the friction

Between you and I.