Bottled Up

garrapata beachCut my finger
blood spilled to paper
dried and wrapped so carefully
placed in a bottle
with hope and yearning
and sent it out to sea

The sea is rough
Waves toss and churn
the bottle’s journey long
Yet I sit here waiting
warmth abating
full of hope, anticipating

Tenuously anchored to the shore
sand slides between my toes
grain by grain washed away
by a cruel relentless tide
My heart grows colder
body infirm and older
as time and space collide

Steadfastly I remain
as days run into nights
I’m still here waiting
all warmth abating
with no reply in sight

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