Waves

You have been lost and every hand that welcomes you
is the symbol of distrust.
Perhaps it is something you have noticed,
a pattern, a familiar theme of betrayal.

Of all the promises that are open to you,
you know logic from this point in time is lost.
So you discern that you are travelling inward,
you know only what is the cost.

And from the beginning of every-thing
you knew there was a chance of a mistake.
From broken illusion you know nothing
about how you feel, you are nothing, a fake.
You have doubts about this certainty;
you are something others deem to always forsake.

But as the tide pulls up the waves
and the moon pushes past the sun
There is a space in the autonomy
a clear passage in the sand to write your name.
With a broken twig, wet jeans and naked torso
you scratch sound in the lost game
And the wine finds its way
down the gully of your shrunken stomach.

White leaves no mark
but the grit in your hair and nails
and the twig followed the stone
and the sun follows the moon
And the light moves into everything
And that moves past, and it becomes too soon.