I feel the distance 

like a wound.

Thoughts glom together,

a whirlpool I cannot touch;

I know how to fester,

to cling, to overthink,

to doubt...

How do I move forward

in the wet sand of shame?

Do I salve 

the angry red

gap

until softness returns?

Will my scratchy voice

reach you on the waves

even in this storm?

Do I let the open air

stitch together the fibers

of this love

turned raw?

As I sit in bed

with aches pouring over

each other like high tide,

I wonder if you even 

know how I've kept

the last lantern lit

for you,

waiting weeks

for the moment your 

ship eases into the bay.