things we opened

we sat on shore
and applauded
with the fingers we had left
the boats sinking
in a familiar storm

applause was a generous designation
because our hands didn’t make noise anymore
and in their mechanical rubbing
wasn’t celebration

this insect habit
was our sail
and our skies never breached
overcast

we were sinking too
without the rain
or splintering decks

under the weight
of a diminishing island