Edge of Ocean

Seaweed clings like regret

around my boots, salt biting sharp.

Waves fold into themselves, gray and relentless,

a white scrape on the wet sand.

The horizon pulls itself thin,

an unsteady line, cold and distant.

The wind grabs at my coat,

fingerprints of salt on skin.

I watch the ocean break,

hear it but can’t touch it,

held back by cold air and the stretch

of empty steps before the water.

The tide doesn’t wait.

Neither do I.