Carry Me


I bring in my cupped hands
barely a swallow of water
thick with salt —
I carry it to you from
across a sea of longing
coughed up from lungs
that have too long tried
to breathe beneath
the weight of fifty-foot
waves of want.
I walk these sands
with sunburned feet
seaweed strands tangled
in my sun-bleached hair
fiddler crabs scuttle
in my wake, and the
lonely cries of seagulls
echo in my bones.
If I get to where you are
without any spills,
will you sip, won’t you
drink from my fingers
share this taste of
longing with me —
be for me the hurricane
that redefines my
shoreline, will your
winds carry me?



For today’s prompt, write an across the sea poem. This could be a love letter, an electronic submission through cyber space and time, or a travel poem (by air or sea, though probably not car). Modern travel or back in the days of rugged explorers. Wandering or wondering, your choice. As always, the prompt is just the springboard to your poem; feel free to bend and break.