The Moya View

The Bottle All Around Her

Her life now is a message in a bottle.  
She sails anywhere, somewhere, nowhere,
it doesn’t make a difference .

She’ll never break free of the glass all around her.
She will remain anchored to past lovers.
Her thoughts will never get pass her memories
of them. Their gaunt faces will pull her back,
warning sirens lost in the dissolving ocean,
covering the killing rocks awaiting on the beach.

Days leave her. She forgets the sun.

The tiny people on the forever slipping
away shore she can see but never beach on,
who wave closer than her eyes perception,
slip her into vertigo, a frenzy unconsciousness
that leads into night, nightmares
and the wakening horror that the water will always
be around her and she will never know a horizon.

She is beyond the compass’s direction,
the surety of maps.

There are more lines on her face
than waves in the sea. Without the
comfort of a mirror she will
always be afraid, stranded, insecure.

In the reflection of the waves
she sees the black clouds above her.
She imagines them the trail of moonlight
that comes after the storm, the mirage
that always calms her.

Surely, she will meet that handsome
man of long ago and all her memories.
They will make love forever and ever.

And then, suddenly he will disappear.
She will look but never find him.
The fog comes, and the rocks await.





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