Message in a Bottle

At last, you’ve found me. Or at least the part
I placed here, in hopes of covering some
distance. Let’s see: in the horizon’s bedtime story,

 

the waves were in love with the wine cork,
but the bottle made off with the moon. I’m not
making things better by writing this letter.

 

I can’t paddle to sea with a spoon. Let’s just say
I was walking the beach, and felt the sweep
of the tide’s cold fume. My thoughts were fragile,

 

so I fit them to glass. It was fast, the wind,
but steady the planks of the shore,
the sea riding bright against the sand’s rough bow.

 

I’m telling you it was hard to let
go of. I’m glad if you’re holding it now.