Carotid Artery

Would you let me be a sailor?

Not the captain at the helm of this   

precious

Mission.

But the one who is seated in the corner

atop a broken barstool

inside the empty tavern
at dock.

Wrinkled,

and alone.

Would you let me sit

and taste that ocean for a spell?

The rain as it pelts on

half-open windows.

The waters as they speak to me.

May I be as broken as the broken

seat which I am seated on,

and still,

like a mountain,

made of many pieces,

not yet crumble?

May I share the silence

with you alone,

and no one else.

Song.