Little Island

sigh … a lifetime ago I breathed here, vital - dangled my topsiders over these pier stones and pilings tempting the dark leviathans that swam beneath the bloated August moon, reflected … kissing menthols like careless lovers concerned only with the moment (hoping) and a pair of bow lips that smiled beside me in the mirrored yellow glow... an odd teenage dynamic - three callow kids consumed by craziness and euphemistic particle smashing … a trio of courses that spun their own dreams - flung on disparate winds but wound together by the timeless wonder of warm midsummer moons … entranced by the same opiate of ocean air caught up in a manic whorl of hormones and honeyed twilight ... this place sang to me then - reached deep and chanted an aria of infinite attachment - melded my being with its charm and essence and immortality but … I wasn't listening all my arrogant ears could gather was youth and ego and the soft flesh of an auburn-haired girl … warm arms that found me naught but a dalliance - a fun summer toy bared and berried lips that I mistook for love ... and more and I, not the lone casualty it lasted forever but was gone in an instant … sigh (again) now, I return unsure of my purpose or intent and the dulcet dirge that doused me then still strains to be heard its aching echo serenades - tender, true and sweet from some sacred place deep within - a dark and holy realm where hearts bleed fire and dreams feed on marrow … or perhaps these old, creaky poles have their own weathered voices brought to music by tidal bore - gentle, rhythmic swells plucking them like sad strings that whisper, poignantly - "we wait for you … “ “come”