Ink that Saved

Fingers brush a folded page,

faded ink like dampened rain.

Clumsy words, a tangled line,

smudged where time forgot the sign.

“You’ll find a light,” the letters say,

a crooked promise worn away.

A hand beneath the waves, it grips,

a lifeline through the tightening slips.

I hold that note when dark is near,

a crooked beacon, dim but clear.