Storm-tossed, wet,

my raft wrecked,

licking salty lips.

Floating, bereft,

hopeless, not finding

the shore. A caw?

Albatross friend

follows low, flying

home to tell his

mother of the lonely

soul floating in the

Sea. Soul? More like

a hole where all

this saltwater leaked

in. My beaked friend

brought back his mother

to watch me struggling,

with quiet tsks

and ominous clucking.

© CGT, 2018.

Talk to me.