The brackish water soothes my soul
and calms the rage.  The open wounds
burn happily or not at all
under the weight of such burdens.

Sing, sing the song you wrote for me
again.  Play it slowly this time,
from the top, with bravado.  Play
it sweetly or not at all.  Please.

Would you have this dance with me now,
years from when I should have asked you?
The music fades.  Your song is done
again, and I am dead again.

Crash, crash and ebb into my void,
great charge.  Will you ever return?
Scoff and upturned nose will answer
and I will know your truth is nein.