The White Curtain

The white curtain behind the TV sighs and suggests the out-of-doors. It is that way, one thing leads us to another place. How seeing a leash feels like a missing dog, though he is here somewhere, just not in sight at the moment. A fluttering absence surrounds. As just this moment you look at me to listen and your other-sided hand pauses its crane-like reach for pretzels and sways, misplaced, puzzled. And wind is so direct at us it stops the words from exiting our mouths. You struggle to say, what; maybe, "shouldn’t we do something with the sail-tack, or something?" and all I feel is how the lines vibrate, tight with air and spray, and what I do not say is how I miss everything not tied down right now.