When the arms of the cold empty ocean
are my only consoling caress,
and the wide open sky encircled by waves
is all that my eyes can possess,
I stretch out my fingers in desperate need
of a touch that might shake off this shroud,
for loneliness seeps a chill through my bones
and the aching of silence shouts loud.
A day drifting by in this blankness of self
weighs an anchor of terrible loss;
it’s the waste of each moment with no one to love
that nails me to this floating cross.
The albatross gliding can see
thousands drowning nearby, just like me.
© 2022 Jim Loft