I try to make you noisy, stringing ahs together,
stepping on piano keys.
I'll be here when you ask to put on mascara—too much at first—
or venture to the porch—
that kind of distance.
Atoms are eighty percent energy and the rest solid.
You gurgle sounds,
two kissing flounder and a starfish.
Waves twinkle-twinkle without our doing anything, and the purple
seahorse that is always just out of reach—lights up—
every time you realize you have hands.