the trick is figuring out which is reason and which is just
the choking miasma of this solitude, this 14,000 km and 15 hours.
I hide behind dates and times and plans
Flimsy paper shields that flex and tense in the wind
keening wails and ragged sobs drowning in the tempest
but you look the other way.
I disdain this weakness
but it is all that I have.
This empty beach, damp sand underfoot
Moonlight gleaming off roaring breakers
A million light years away.
No comments:
Post a Comment