I feel the distance  like a wound.

Thoughts glom together, a whirlpool I cannot touch;

I know how to fester, to cling, to overthink, to doubt...

How do I move forward in the wet sand of shame?

Do I salve  the angry red gap until softness returns?

Will my scratchy voice reach you on the waves even in this storm?

Do I let the open air stitch together the fibers of this love turned raw?

As I sit in bed with aches pouring over each other like high tide, I wonder if you even  know how I've kept the last lantern lit for you, waiting weeks for the moment your  ship eases into the bay.