aberration by the sea. she,
eyes dazed and drifting
like an approaching,    floating shipwreck,
took in the algid air that tossed her hair,
stern posture pulsing.
 

i wish she’d find my thoughts washed up
in a plain clear bottle
but I’m sat on the broken shells
            beside her,                               building sandcastles                and watching them fall
 

but when we were in the waves
we stared like lovers, spoke like lovers
at shallow shore her shame, like a towel, covers 

does the laughter mean a thing
if we leave the water
and wash off the sand?

            distant as the sky and sea        appear to be     at the farthest wave     the eyes can reach.
 

a brittle cold and broken shell,
reality. opacity.
 

which is the dream:
the sand or the deep,
silence or laughter?
 

            zenith / horizon                       now / then        her / me                       just now
 

she could be sailing to me.
she faces the tide
and i turn back
to a wasted sea.

Abigail is a writer, performer, and creative in Brooklyn, New York. Her poetry has been published by Quibble Lit (Issue 11: Snake Eyes), Wingless Dreamer, Art On the Trails, and more.