Dec 2016
From my window, I stare into the blue,
Without the faintest clue why,
You never come.
Time drips away.
My soulmate gone,
Iām not sure, she was ever here.
Lonesome George,
They used to call me that here,
Before I became the last.
The island fills with our empty shells,
I don't know how to escape it.
I dream of visiting the caves in France.
But I too, will soon become dust;
Perhaps, I already am.
Though when I taste the water, I do remember,
The feel of Fall's fluttering leaves, together.
And while the island washes us away,
My heart never forgets you.
Without the faintest clue why,
You never come.
Time drips away.
My soulmate gone,
Iām not sure, she was ever here.
Lonesome George,
They used to call me that here,
Before I became the last.
The island fills with our empty shells,
I don't know how to escape it.
I dream of visiting the caves in France.
But I too, will soon become dust;
Perhaps, I already am.
Though when I taste the water, I do remember,
The feel of Fall's fluttering leaves, together.
And while the island washes us away,
My heart never forgets you.
This is written about the last turtle of a certain species on Galapagos. He refused to mate with the female turtles, and seemed to always stare out to the water. He died in 2012, sadly, though he was 100yo, and shortly thereafter another of his kind was found (a female), perhaps she was looking for him after all.
(chinatown, ny)
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