Maritime


Through branches and twigs, lights flicker and the cold dark halos of my breath glow. 
And fade. Everything does. Is it a reason, though, for my not inhaling? For my not moving? 
No, my feet march, careless, and crack leaves and snails as they go.
My body a knife through seven, numerous seas. 
Shedding waters and rendering the power of the waves useless. Surrendering, they depart and strike me back again when they come. 
Still I move, still the sand recedes and I go further.  
My white rags wave and the wind joins my other counterparts and then the lights flicker and fade and I fade: wave, salt, tear. 

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