the Strait

we arrive at night, under the cover of darkness,

under the eyes of the stars.

our bare feet alight warmly on the cold stones,

the salty water caresses our toes.

we each have a plank, a piece of old wood,

the last burdened with fuel and matches.

our fire looks upon us warmly, an echo of

the stars that blink brightly above us.

we don't speak, and yet say everything we've

ever wanted to say.

soon our fire melts into the ground,

only to rise o'er mountains before us,

and we stand with it, a salute.

we leave, as we must, but at the same time, don't;

we've left ourselves on the fire-warmed stones.

The End

10 comments about this poem Feed