I am one who walks along the shore
looking for answers and sea glass.
If it were not for the cleansing tides,
the beach would be a well-worn path,
but twice a day the waves come
and wash away my searches and sins
and lay them at someone else’s feet,
or let them sink into the deep.
I imagine an armada of ambivalence,
anger, and angst floating and sinking,
like bottles tossed by castaways
wishing life would feel less lonely.
As the waves wipe away the first
of my footsteps, she starts a fire,
uncorks the wine, and waits
for me to find my way home.
*This is a response to the prompt at Writer’s Island.