Moored to circumstances
tugged by tides,
tied to the moon.
Essence obscured
in dusky waters –
temporarily.

The soul I know flowing,
sure undetected current.
Granules,
thousands – once known
by name.

A voice calling underwater, “Friend!”
Gurgle unanswered.

(I would pay a siren trunks of doubloons to call her back.)

She – a sweet alto
aria of sunshine,
curling along summer breezes,
extending happy melodies
toward every dawn –
now soured, tangled
with seaweed.

Mahogany mantled ships,
her beloved eastern sentinels,
now drifting splinters.

(There is no glue,
no peg,
no twine to heal
a hull back to maidenhood.) 

Joy crests but ebbs
too quickly.
Not lost – fleeting,
like a fresh sip
on swollen tongues.

Tide Maker,
Sea Salter,
Rainbow Reefer –
scoop me
out of these midnight depths.
Spear me if you must.

Merciful, an undertow
to propel me forward.
Peril of drowning carries
hope of new horizons.

Foreign vessels lap
gently along fresh dawns,
waiting to embrace the friend
thought lost.