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Move to a boathouse by a river –

the walls must be yellow, the windowsills blue.

Sleep downstairs with your head upstream,

wait for a dream of swimming.

 

When it rains all night and you lie awake

collecting the music of a leak

and reading The Observer’s Book of Water

until you’ve learned that chapter

 

on whirlpools and waterspouts by heart,

listen to her whisper and giggle

as she scribbles her slippery name

over and over down the glass.

 

Have a bucketful of oysters in the sink

in case she’s feeling peckish

and a case of Rainwater sherry

chilling in a cave behind the waterfall.

 

At the bottom of the well

there’s one white pebble –

put it beneath your tongue 

until it dissolves into a kiss.

 

Become so dry she will slip

into the shape of your thirst.

Prepare to be a shiver on her surface.

Taste her arrival on the wind.