When she disappears
into the atmosphere, will you
remember the shape her mouth was in
when she last said
your name, when she stepped back
from that kiss? A poet skirts
in and around surfaces
seeking a place to attach herself to.
It’s a barnacle
life—she’s always preferred the underside
of piers.
Night & Day Poems of Amy Nash 
Amy,
I love this poem. “It’s a barnacle life” Absolutely perfect!
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Beautifully written!
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Thanks. Barnacles have always inspired me.
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