Castaway

The things I forget are simple. Not your face,
Or the color of your eyes (blue, with hints
Of grey and gold, like the sea at dawn.)

I forget the sound of birds marking the dawn,
the taste of salt, the touch of sun on my face.
I forget the shape of us. You left me only hints:

The tree outside my window that hints
of tangled limbs; the deep shadows at dawn;
the clouds that hide the moon’s face.

I face the sea, scour it for hints of you. Dawn is just a simple thing.


A gauntlet was thrown among the YeahWrite editors: it’s a tritina slam this week! Check out the other entries on the fiction|poetry grid. (Click the badge below.)

19 thoughts on “Castaway

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