on the shore we face the clouds on the horizon. I wince at the chill of the wind on my skin. the waves rise high and promise to be even colder. up ahead, my friends dip their toes in the shallows. I run past and dive into the cold that isn’t any worse than the breeze. in the water I open my eyes and glide over the sand. the waves crash above me and everything I hear is muffled and less important underneath. there is peace in the absence of air and any expectation to be. I have love for my friends on the shore and still wish I could stay beneath at least a little longer than I can.
on the train I dance between messages I’ve missed and headlines that should be left in nightmares they’ve escaped. the occupation widens its gaze with attacks in another capital. we talk about how it’s going to end, knowing well there is no use in playing with the thought that there’s any hope for consequence. I miss the rally to swim and taste expensive wines and the drones erase another school. the families were living there in tents until the place went up in flames. I complain about the size of the room I have the choice to rent; they burn through the night or have nowhere else to go.
I call a friend I’ve missed and remember my arms will never reach far enough. my heart holds so much that I can’t. in my dream I know where to go but never know what to say. when I wake up I will boil the kettle and have even less to say.
No comments:
Post a Comment