There are no splinters though this door

is still making room for the sea

to come inside—even without water

these walls become sails, their corners

opening as if this pillow

is reaching out where two should be

—more ships! armadas half canvas

half behind each window shade

where someone is crying from lips

that never dry, sweat when turning a knob

hollowing it out the way you dead

let each other in—one by one

learning to rise to the surface

as walls and underneath

unfolding your arms for more wood.