If I lay my hand Flat against the surface, Palm down fingers dipping in the salty wetness, I can almost feel her moving. And if I hold my face to the wind I can almost feel the wisp, the whiff, her breath Against my cheek, tiny droplets fine and silky. I can hear her breathe, See her disrupt the Silver surface and I can watch the mist that is Her breath Drift and float. If I put my head under the Broken surface, eyes open I can almost see her There. There in the farthest Bits of fractured light. Gray and slated for the shadows.