Skimming
She’s skimming messages that hop lagoons
from
bangka’s outrigging, bound for beaches strewn
with ancient shipwrecks and driftwoods hewn
from barks by long fatigued swollen seas.
Today she's distant; he watches tossed leaves
of the sycamores and oaks’ silent symphonies,
conducted by the clement English breeze.
And maybe muttering we want different things,
wearing life's jacket now, and a security it brings,
peering into an ocean’s mirror while engines sing
fearless - and memories behind eyelids sting.
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