the past
The girl I was is out at sea.
Isn’t that funny? She just walks
further and further away, slowly.
Soon I’ll think we had different lives
me and her, her and me.
Maybe I’ll wave to her across the sea,
Lift my arm high above my shoulder
and wave to the wee girl with the black curly hair,
her skirt, way above her knees in the dark sea.
