so indulge me in this final act of violence at the end of the world.
tell me about the lick of the ocean, how it feels to be wrapped

in pale blue ribbons bursting with so much light. the sounds of salvation
that called you home, the hushed whispers baked into your brittle bones.

ask me then, how sick i am of sinking my teeth into this sieged city
of vagabonds with too much heat and too much heart and too much

hope. how the hurt has stayed unbroken, bitter on my tongue.
forgive me; i know you’ve heard it all before, but it’s been a while.

these past five years have made hurried ants of us, burrowing deeper
and deeper into the wet sand for any semblance of shelter, finding

refuge from the ripples of sun and salt visible from this vacancy.
do you remember what you left behind? maybe not.

a father is a father until he is set free. a daughter who stays
becomes a vessel for all the courage he could never have.

i’m standing at the mouth of the ocean and contemplating grief,
wondering if mourning what could’ve been is the same

as mourning a person. on good days, i sustain myself
with the good years. on better days, i am better off.

now we face each other as opposites, barely recognizable
even in the face of the imminent apocalypse.

what i want more than anything is to know if you found
everything you were looking for—if reunion is now just another word

for the deflation of a dream, unleashing rogue waves
and cities crumbling down on my decaying bravado.

the uproar is enough to refract the last light of the sun into
my hollowed-out chest, daring me to transform into something

that withstands the test of time.