I take my seven days paint each of them yellow. You take Monday make it a watercolour of blue and weeping. Leaving you - your Daddy's shell would be like Moon leaving tide. Fish gill net death pulsing silver mountains on a starboard of scales, by your Daddy's stench bucket. Touch me with ten tombstones. Wake the dead in me you love me like a dog we need each other. My seven days of your one. You call me Daddy when I hold you, forcing my hands away from where Devils played in the Spring of fifty six until sixty seven when you capsized with his boat off Agadir. Yasmine candles, took us back to Marrakech, through their burning you remembered us, how we were, things we said, and that one night in eight years you painted our son yellow and Devils and Daddy's slept till deaths watercolour brought your cod eye glance staring east to an Atlantic tomb.