Here an island
Rigged lines pull taunt in a perfunctory exclamation of breath
One received, never to perish
Wind perhaps, or my own
Maybe both
The precipice rising from flat seas overwhelms in steeped desire
Tears puddle in place
Waves embrace
Companionship sought
Muscles pull apart at seams unknown, an awkward pursuit
Wood splinters in the palm
Hands, caked in salt
Almost, Almost
Here I am, drifting again, as tall pointed firs peek
Driftwood as my table,
The sea my nemesis, my lover