just talking to myself

now that you’ve broken through the glass,
shattered your soul-boundaries into
thousands of rough edges
and seen the ocean waiting on the other side,
breathing feels here so borrowed,
a heavy wet nostalgia and
mildew on skin that bruises too easily.

put your small hand in mine and unwrinkle your forehead;
the tide may be coming in but
we can still build castles out of the sand
that remains.

3 thoughts on “just talking to myself

  1. “breathing here feels so borrowed….” what a lovely and powerful ending to the 2nd stanza! One day I hope to become as prolific as you are 🙂

    Thanks for commenting on my blog!!

  2. As you’ve probably guessed from my own poems, the shore is the heart’s marginalia, caching the brutallest ebb and flow of I and Thou, the intimate, I dunno — with and without an Other. High tide is good though it devastates every tiny castle of sand we love in.

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