Waiting Ashore

Scratchy, scrabbling, rickety
Brine - sloshing around since
The end of time. I watch it
And wait - for your fingers in
My hair and your breath on my
Ear lobe and your arm round
My waist. A tear rolls along
My cheek and sinks into the
Wet sand. And I wonder if the
Ocean is made of tears, or if
Our tears come from the ocean.
The breeze races past, blowing
My hopes in the wrong direction.
The sky, the sea and the sand
Become the same inky hue.
I wait for epiphany. I wait for relief.
I wait for you.