The Vagabond And The Sea

As if the wind itself had begotten thee,

I feel your presence as the horse’s mane blows me out to sea.

Here, on this shore—

I do wait for thee.

Oh, dear vagabond—

Do you like the way the streets feel ‘neath thine soles?

Break the tide to an alarming halt,

Oh, my own Odysseus.

Fleeting thoughts of homecoming

And happenstances of merciful bliss

Invade my subconscious.

While between them lay your face.

Letters from ashore,

I will send them till the squid’s of the sea
Shall no longer relinquish their ink to me.

Breathe an adoring memorandum,

If but a wisp of air that’s phantom,

Towards thine blood-laden chambers.

And as I await the ship,

As the swell tightens its grip,

A Penelopean ardor will filleth thine spirit,

And giveth thee life.