On the far side of the island, trees
grow differently. Wind-warped and torn ragged
by the harsh years, they crouch, exposed
in beckoning shapes like longing souls.
I haven’t told you I’ve been noticing
that one half of my face is growing old. Maybe
the way I sleep, or how I’m always sitting
in your passenger seat, letting the sun
trickle down my right cheek.
I never told you how my heart stopped
hurting for a good six months
in your love’s first light. Remember
when I didn’t cry? Now I keep trying to lose
the trail of time. The sea mist twists my hair
to sticky waves, makes me look crazed—
it suits me, everything about this place.
You don’t appreciate the sea where you were born.
You won’t come in but say you’d watch me swim,
I grin, I crest and break when you watch me.