you are a fleet upon my shoreline
in mid-december
in the decline
of the seasons.
my impulse is to keep you captive
in an ocean net made to capture fish
i am not unforgiving so i despise this new version of me
there are shipwrecks to be uncovered
and sandy shores to be explored
there are glass shards in the hearth of my heart
they’re from shattered mirrors lying beside the bedside
that i drove a single fist in upon interpreting the impersonal reflection
i have remorse for the way my lighthouse light caused your tiny rowboat to become one with the island i inhabit
i have regrets for the way i watched your salt-licked body drag itself to shore
and let the possibility of you dying linger gently
i let the sea swallow you too quickly
if i obstruct my view, it’s just the lapping of the sea;
just the constant reminder of its immensity.