The Salt That Kept Me
Spring is here,
and for the first time
the air smells like living.
Standing in the golden rays,
I feel a weight lifted —
like shackled stone losing its chains,
floating back towards the surface of the ocean,
carried to and fro,
dancing with the waves
as they carry me towards the horizon.
My lips begin to crack,
dry from the salt
that preserved my spark.
I sip from the freshwater spring
that bursts forward —
a ship with tattered sails,
hemming the threads
one seam at a time,
secured at the helm,
navigating west,
chasing the sunset.
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