When It Arrives

Sadness comes to me like the willow tree
Reaching down to the Earth’s shoulder;
Holding its breath, trying not to breathe
Because every inhale makes me older,
And every gasping exhale exits pieces of you.

The more I breathe, the older I become,
And the further my ship sails from the island of You,
Where I once felt deserted, and had wildly kissed
The soil when I washed upon your shore
From the salvaged wreck I had survived.

Now I hold in breaths to stop time because I can’t go back,
But I can’t stay here, mooring in your bay —
far enough to see you and close enough to feel “away.”
So I cut the anchor, and raise my mast,
With the wind in my sails and the storm at my back.

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