Lost at Sea

She stills,
makes space like a seascape
deep and wide as mystery
she buoys me.
The waves she makes
don’t break—
my head’s submerged
in perfect words:
she’s practiced, listed—listening.

I am a child lulled, by her
faultless recreation
of a pulse.
I sink into equivalence
like I don’t know the difference
and she swims—and swims—
and swims—
like her horizon is a lifeline
that hasn’t
swallowed time.

Featured image by Sebastian Voortman on Pexels.


In a dream, you saw a way to survive, and you were filled with joy.


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