The mate in spandex straps us, front and back,
to flapping canvas sail and walks us backwards
to the speedboat’s slippery stern, back
to where the blue-green sea roils in the backwash.
You shout, “This is great,” but I shout back,
“Let’s ask the captain for our money back.”
And then a windstorm lifts us. Looking back,
I see us rising, slipping off the back
from safety into sky. The one way back
is down. I yell, “Too high!” and pull you back
though you’re not scared—not here, or back
at home, where I press, sleeping, to your back,
afraid to lose you, who holds nothing back.
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