i had to bud my sea legs.
everything here tastes and feels like salt.
i stand on the edge, and the storm clouds roll in, they match the sea here.
grey.
the sort of grey you can lose yourself in- deep, fathomful.
the sea cries every time i get close.
it wants me back.
but i can only stand at its edges.
and feel the salty winds.
until it rains
until it pours
until the lobstermen pull their boats in
and the whales all sink to the undertoe where its quieter
until its just me
all alone
in the rain
in the storm
on the edge
with the wake spray pulling me in
but my feet sit like rusty old anchors.
and i can only cry salty tears.
because i'll have to go soon.
i wouldn't mind a watery end.