Adrift
Micah James

By myself
On these seas
We promised to sail
Together. But then you

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Turned your bow from mine
And coasted away, leaving one
Tiny boat behind. Ships have passed,
But none board, seeing no waving sail to
Beckon them. They go on by. The mast is bare,
A branchless tree, without purpose or heading. So
Still, I float, drifting further away as I gaze at the sterns
In the misted distance. But then, all at once, I ask of this
Bitterness that presses me down: Would I still sail astride
If you suddenly came speeding back, flying high that flag
That I knew. No, I don’t think that I would. Still, I will miss
All those coasts that we charted, still surrounded by
The journeys we’ve left blank on the page, but now
It’s time to patch up these sails and raise them
Again, toward those horizons I never thought
I would reach without sharing the view.
I’m finished pickling in this piteous
Brine. Finished blaming the sea
For the salt in my eyes. See,
This mast is still standing
High, my sails folding
Out to grab hold
Of the wind
And fly.