How many ships have sailed these waters?
How many farewells have been bid?
The fog of my youth rests upon the lapping waves now
This lighthouse of regret beckoning those sailed ships to return
Because in this harbor I harbor secrets and promises
I do not intend to keep.
Going through the motions I am sick with movement
As it is all too familiar to me, this desire and waiting
for captains and crews that never come,
as they are now charting waters in the distance of another woman’s eyes