They met once
before
and now again.
here, as new people
on a sandbar
where seashells
ocean waves,
survivor
and troubador serenades
mix
to conjure that
which is envied
above
and below.
They each find self
in search for each other,
Two pair
of footprints
now
meandner,
overlap
loop,
entwine,
And parallel
over wet
and dry sands,
in and out of surf,
telling their tale
for all to see.
The End.
She made camp,
Hopeful.
Now, analyzing
Every inch of island,
Circling,
Starved, sleepless,
determined,
alone,
crazed,
erratic,
hopeful.
Hope, he will still
Love her that way.
On her way back to camp,
she attempts to reassemble
self.
“Doubt”
Message in a bottle
that she had found,
positive her love lived
–she tries not to doubt it,
or the island,
or herself.
His attempt
to set sail fails.
“Jetsam”
Limp, exhausted,
she washes in,
with the incoming tide.
Along with debris from her raft,
and self.
She wakes
from the scrape of beach sand
grated against her cheek.
He stares out
At the water,
it is crystal clear.
His makeshift ship,
To his back,
on it
he considers attempting
to set sail.
She now learns to walk
on land
and to comb sand.
She is not the one
who left shore
so long ago
–this creature who grits teeth,
And holds in
air,
and twists legs into tail,
and arms wrestling waters
And demons
Of mind, air and sea.
“Inventory”
She wakes, angrily
again on her raft,
compass gone missing,
lost to the sea
Oar, canteen, bag and
Ocean remaining,
Again.
Of hands,
there are 2
Of lips, 2,
Of bodies, 1,
Of thoughts
Hers;
Alone.
“Brave tears”
Last night
She cried
It had been days
Since tears burned
That she had told herself
Brave soldiers,
Brave seamen,
Brave
Did not shed.
“Beasts”
But the daemons
Remaining
Hate is amusement
For the tired
Bored
Lost
Only virtue
–a near impossible feat–
Saves
the few
From transforming
Into beasts.
“Addicted”
From fruit of the land
he tattoos his page
ink in hand,
ink in skin,
ink in veins,
scratch the ink,
down
and in.
Adrenaline,
addicted.
This ink
scratching
is how he’ll live;
Pushing ink in.
“Hair”
Rich mahogany
hair
has lightened
to birch in places
dried.
She cares not
how she appears,
but imagines
the peculiar expression
of passing sea faring witnesses
with mouths agape.
They might wish
to save her
from the sea.
She would
kindly ignore the offer,
barter supplies,
bid farewell,
and sail on.
Sea of Letters 