I imagine you standing there
at the mouth of the River Clyde,
a carefully rolled cigarette hanging
lazily from your lips.
You are pensive, motionless
as the waves roll in,
each one whispering my name
and carrying the salt of my tears.
I brave the rocky coast here at home,
wade into the sea until my legs
are as numb as the rest of my body.
I tell myself that I like being numb,
that it suits me just fine;
though sometimes I wish the truth
would scuttle over and pinch my toes,
wake me from chilled suspension.
Tonight, I am not so lucky as to be pinched,
embedded in a waterlogged dream.
I walk further into the cool surf,
toward the opposite shore, to you.
Copyright © 2011 by Christopher Chaffin – All rights reserved