Buoy

 

Below the weight

of the worlds pallet,

the sea rolls, kneading

at my sides with

its woman’s nocturne.

So desolate, this

 

floating. I was just

waiting for a sign.

Someone to come,

one of those stars to

finally swing down

next to me, tell me,

they’ve seen roots,

 

the grain… Yet

with time it will

occur to me, that I

might, actually,

be an island.

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