The Shrine/An Argument

I want to go anywhere.

Anywhere, please,

because I won't be leaving here

all summer long.

I'll be here.

Sitting and waiting for

something

(anything)

to happen.

I want some body of water.

Some little strip of sand

to fall onto. and sink into.

A lake.

A pond.

A stream.

A manmade reservoir.

The Sea.

That glittering beastly,

wave-spewing, crashing,

tideful

beautiful thing

I have seen only on the back of my eyelids,

only in my dreams.

I have no way to get there.

I have a car.

I have maps.

I have a longing ache in my heart.

The will to go is here,

biting at my ankles

like a fickle lap dog,

but I lack the guts.

My insides are simply not arranged

for that kind of rebellion.

I could not pick up in the night

and drive myself to the coast.

Because maybe,

just maybe,

I could sit and read and

breathe in thick salty sea air,

and sit and stare at the horizon,

until it all just blurred together.

Sea and Sky.

Because I feel trapped and strangely

singular.

Because I'm longing for the one thing

I could write about without end,

my constant.

Which has been lost to me,

for two long years. (Nearly three)

Two years (nearly three) without the sea.

Unbearable longing

makes me ache, the soul's depths

grasp like wispy fingers at this

dissipating dream apparition.

To sit on the shore,

and listen to the sea

suck its teeth and to

watch its weaving seafoam

claim sand.

That is happiness,

unattainable.