The space you left began to fill with colour

Tentative but definite, like the transparent marbling of soap bubbles and puddles of gasoline. I gave you half of a distance, like a map. Measured in fish scales and fingerprints. The sun is shining through the things that were once slicked back by the sea. Breathless and blue the deep cold of home translating into mist between teeth, between lips, shading into the barley water sun of winter. I woke up half afraid and peeled the shapes of ghosts from my skin.