the pulse in the palms
of shaking hands, reaching
–always reaching

for the
sea as she carries away
a bottled message, floating
–forever floating

the horizon
grows in midnight eyes
a new sun, rising
–always rising

and the
old chests of vacant lovers
will root us, blooming
–forever blooming

in the
sea, we are wrecked tragedies
wooden-hearted boats, sinking
–always sinking

it tastes
like the sweetened rage of defeat
but keep those sails, adjusting
–forever adjusting

we’re not
drowning, we’re surviving.