I feel the tyranny
of time and expectations
in my salty bones.

I don’t trust the tides
because I’m accustomed to barren beaches
devoid of sensuous kelp
and industrious crabs.

I don’t trust the water
because I know thirst
too well.

I fear this ocean
will poison me.
I fear I will drown,
pulled down
by a selfish and indifferent current.

I fear the waves won’t return
after the last tsunami
and the seabed won’t recover
from the last trawling.

I loathe the anxious boredom
of sitting on the shore
staring out to sea
towards
an ambiguous
and eternally elusive
horizon.

It is abundance I fear
most of all.

© S. Rinderle, December 2020