[and what if the things…]

and what if the things we’ve lost in the flood
aren’t really lost at all, they’re just adrift and
afloat waiting for us to net them in and reclaim
them. cargo that is never handled with care
and comes to you in priceless fragments. the sea
is indifferent to fragility and there isn’t enough
glue in the world to put the pieces back together.
we remember it through photographs, pictures of
what you used to be waterlogged and crusted
with the salt of memory. a briny past where not
even the rocks stay the same. the water may recede
one day but the damage is done. we draw
messages on the shore for lovers who have
already gone down with the wreck. some
where, in the middle of the atlantic, there
is a crate containing nothing but the pieces
of your heart. aimlessly drifting.


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