my world is a life boat,
a nursery rhyme construction
of wood and tired paint;
almost safe
almost stable
almost dry
almost real

I have crafted it from pure will
and grip tight with aching fingertips
even as I stare over the edge
at everything I want to know.

Everything I fear.

because the ocean makes no promises,
it is a story told in real time,
destination unknown

and I sip at the flavour of it,
let the rich and briny thickness
of it coat my tongue
and dry crisp against my skin.

And I pretend at understanding

With loving reverence, I curate tales
of its inky black mysteries
and full spectrum shining life,

I watch it flash and froth beneath the surface.
out of reach.

But I have never let it take me whole,
never let the rhythm of it press against my flesh,
never danced with waves from the inside,
never dared to open my eyes in salt water.

And I wonder
if I have resigned myself
to growing old here?