Woman Through Binoculars

I watch you scutter in and out,
upping roots like some strange pet
and nose around your loneliness.

Rain needles in and ghosts my sight.
I carry you in my cupped hands
under a flat and blackened sky.

Smudged and still against a door
you watch the boat; its pitch and cut
slips silver fish towards the gulls.

You choose to scream: I cannot hear
but only see your head thrown back
mouth wide, but nothing coming out.