by LJ Frank

I climbed the stairs to the deck, her voice veiled in a light wind filling the sails, like the allure of an ancient poetess, yet I sense her voice is a metaphor of my future, so I breathe in the freshness far from the crowded shore of origin;

I catch an aroma amid the obscure moment of a reflection, the interlacing pungent scent of algae and the intoxicating flowery fragrance afloat from an island on the horizon, the watery depths, the endless waves, the meaning of endurance on either side of the surface, to exist is sketchy, details require focus…the log I keep reminds me of my islets of experience, some more worthy than others, the nature of rationing food, drink and other items suggesting persistence, the singular nature of my mind and body in its shell of skin even when sighting others with similar clothing who seek the tumultuous quiet of a voyage;

My cells meditate, as the sound of the waves splash against the hull, I’m unmasked and naked under the heated downpour of a passion, she lures and waits as I note the rigging is wanting repair to avoid being adrift, the island is within reach as a seagull now alights and perches on a railing, and as the island comes closer I see a dock, like a forefinger pointing the way stretching out from the shore…and again, her voice stirs my blood within the nautical miles of my vision, the remaining moments dissipate like a mist beneath the sun’s showers while I feel her beckoning presence, the warmth of her embrace and her soft voice compels and tempts as she whispers in my ear – I am here waiting, I am your shore.