No matter how far I go, from shoreline to shoreline, begging refuge from coastguards and strange light towers, I never drift far enough to find an Ocean without at least an ounce of you.

You'll find me in Belgium,  On the coast of the North Sea.  I'll be swaying on the current,  The salty spray of the tide  Running me towards the Strait of Dover.  It bears my essence as it crashes,  A crushing cerulean weight To turn rock into sand,  And sailors dreams into restless sleep.

“No matter how much I think I’ve grown, I fall short, because the world has been growing too, and I just can’t keep up…”

It only takes a few seconds, or maybe less. Perhaps it’s just a blink, a flash of the sun through a pinhole in air-dried cotton sheets, or a shooting star racing towards the center of a black hole, erupting at the bend in our universe, where all events lose focus, lose time, lose everything except … Continue reading “No matter how much I think I’ve grown, I fall short, because the world has been growing too, and I just can’t keep up…”