I am bound to the sea
the way a dog is leashed to its master.
The way night must slave for day
on hands and knees
or be banished forever after.
I am servant to the waves,
the tug of tide on leash.
The lessons of rebellion
exposed by shipwrecked graves,
hulls long-ago breached.
I am the plaything of a distant horizon,
straight-faced mistress,
she demands devotion
or the chains will tighten
tethering me to a false premise.
When the sun slumbers,
I shed my sparkling gown
spread out my subservience,
its heaviness tumbles,
a blanket of blackest clouds,
and for a few hours, there is illusion,
as I blend in with night’s puffy face,
stinging and swollen,
in search of softer currents,
I wade into the battered waves.
©2023 | K.F. Hartless
Written for Break on Through…the art of Lori Earley
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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