he lives on listless islands
and I,
on granite ocean shores.

and he can see me.
I can tell,
when he mucks up
his mountains
and awaits
the morning swell

but
I am his
open mouthed fear
and he–
my impervious chasm.

so they tell me
“find your own
isle to dwell”
but,
I think I’ve left my coat
on his filthy wooden floor.

– Sheila Sea