Where in this sea of flowers did you see yourself?
Climbing into it, you weakly pulled yourself into
the blossoming petals, too frail for what you must do.
You could only lie down, and cling to what you held.

You left your heart, long ago, in the mountains,
and I wonder if it ever realized that the soul
it was bleeding dry for had lost all control
and rose like roots, ripped, no longer grounded.

And the sea rose up to bury you with it's swells,
cold and ebbing — it couldn't mimic a lover.
But it was your only embrace in these last rites.
They had not an undertow to rip on what you dwell.
Alone and drowning in a sea you'd wished to discover
that it was in these moments you could see sunlight.