Thou rustling of waves
is there word for me
ensnared in thy anatomy?
Perhaps an odd bottle
with a funny smell
but doesn't stench of reality?
Perhaps a precise note or
a drenched lump of paper really.
This island sure snared me,
yet another natal day
and seconds for eternity,
thou rustling of waves,
rouse me from fallacy
when there's word for me,
ensnared in thy anatomy.