3 of 6: Salt

My feet are bare, touching the waves

My hands, gently pressed into the sand

Searching into the distance for land far beyond my reach

As if to hear you calling, I stand

Like a ghost taunted by rumbling graves

The sea almost crushing, pushing my frame

Then sweeping me towards your side

I almost allow the tide to take me out

But I stand firm, straddled wide

My heart thirsting as the current takes aim

She billows, coming only for me

Then grabs hold and sneers

Missing you, these fears spinning in my mind

Am I drowning from my tears,

Or I am drowning from the vagrant sea

Love, B. R. Wren