Photo from Onexposure (Fisherman’s Bottle — Leon).
Through a glass lightly
I put a bottle in a message
and listened for their rhyme.
I drained the mirror of quicksilver,
nightfall vapors forgive me this crime.
The gaping yawn there beyond
sprays salt mist on my closed eyes.
The surf goes in and now comes out
giggling foam at my heart halved lies.
I laugh at my vast echo and
trawl the depths of her silent reply,
while the wind whisks away colors
from loams of plants that in still nights still sigh.
Above the hic-cusp of a wave I search the sparkler night,
peering empty and free through a coddled telescope.
Cassiopeia twirls her hair and ponders me,
turning and dissolving in my bottle kaleidoscope.
The swaying sea beckons sorrow
on waves swinging low and long.
I hold a trembling conch to her starry ear
so she hears my throbbing song.
But for all my madness the sea
she refuses to stop loving me.
I lay down in the weeds of her cool sand
tracing a fevered tree grown ever free.
Leafless driftwood stretches twigging roots
down into shingled ripples of frothed brine.
I put a bottle in a message and
then I made her this rhyme.
Photo: Alone, by Fatemah Choopani from Onexposure
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