lost at sea

when we gathered all our ropes

and knots

we set sail for thirty years

trying hard to steer against the oblique wind

and looking over the coast to see what was left behind

constantly routining for change, we dreamt of hopes and nostalgia of stillness

then we came to meet

what we always knew would come,

it's to say: sea monsters with blond or reddish hair

mermaids of loneliness that sing the lonely song.

air subtle and humid. thick with salt and fish scales

and if only we'd read the book

and watched for ripples long before

we'd got to this, maybe we'd be younger now.

like those two separated twins

on a journey long, much longer than ours.

still-pictures and stenographic letters

divide us from the keel

and we forget that all along we're surrounded

by the bluest of seas

that reaches the deepest of depths

and only occasionally forms a hole to look into,

for our curious eyes to flashback in anger,

conflict,

desire,

genuine deception

or general lack of decision.

but–looking over our shoulders–have we ever sailed smoothly?

and–most importantly–have we ever thought about having a chance to?

we rocked slowly with new moons

knowingly scared of fortnights

knowingly terrified of limestone sediments

that slip your fist, like crowds of vapor sand grains

but one day of the year, we stop and rest on the masts

broken and chipped from alloftheabove,

we reach and rest on the tropic of cancer, our heads light

and our firm arms around a bottle and a memory.

–oh, no– please erase that, no memories this time.

it's July the 17th.