Old wood and brick walls made it
seem like the place called home
and we met a few strangers. She
wore a floral patterned dress and
me a combination of smoky greys.
The jukebox caused feet to dance
as musky bourbon casks ran dry.

The days blur together: fog
and moisture run off of the docks
with sunrise providing a flash
of hope that something will change.
But sunset rips change from
our callused hands that
don’t even blister anymore.

Algae green waves crash onto
the black rocks of the ocean,
the sea foam caps inviting my feet
to dance into the unknown depths
of the sea. A petite fishing boat
cuts through the fog and we meet
face-to-face.

Flowers blowing in the wind
give me a flash of hope something
will change. She offers a weak smile
and is gone as fast as she appeared.
Gone - it happens so quickly; the
wind picked up and my feet decided
to dance. Fall down, never get up again.