One day they will discover the shipwreck
of our love, expert hands sifting through
the debris of silent disappointments and
things that were not supposed to hurt, but
did. They will chip away at sealed doors,
futile attempts at trying to rouse what
once lorded above the waves, majestic
in all the moons it thought it had ahead.
We won’t know what they’re trying to
find. Neither will they. The flotsam
and jetsam will not make much sense
to them, pieces of wreckage that have
long lost any semblance of hope. And
when a lone sea creature hovers curiously
nearby, a question forming on its delicate
fins, they will know it is time to go, leave
all the cargo behind; to rise rise rise
until they break the sparkling surface,
gasping for air and life, buoyed by the
promise and warning that it almost
always takes an ocean to sink.