Paper boats; the three of us shivered
in the wind off the sleeping lake,
birthday candles the only light
in the dark glass-and-tree world.
The boats drifted, radiant white, unconsumed
by the water that supported them.
We crouched at the shore watching them go,
living through damp breath and hammering hearts.
We set the last three down on the lake,
blind to where the air ended. “Ghost,”
you breathed. It was my name that night.
An unseen current pulled the boats sharply away
and yours caught fire.
The flames made a home in my eyes.
