The Ocean Waits for Her Time
(as I wait for mine)

I reflect one

who is already a mirror;

whose pale visage

is a glowing imitation

of a brighter star

that warms the earth around me

and beams at its mirror

and shines with light

I can never touch,

but will attempt to emulate

through another.

My fate:

forever reflecting a reflection.

The Sun and its mirror,

the Moon,

send specks of stardust and sunlight

across my waters–

I am the perfect theater stage for them,

shimmering in my own

modest shades of blue,

desperately stilling my waters

so that they may look upon me

and see themselves.

Perfect.

Almost.

Not enough so that

I am allowed to join their eternal tango,

so I wait for their dance

to come to a close.

While I wait,

I entertain myself with

my tired,

tried but rarely true,

head (for each current–

each thought

–that passes through

has already been touched

by the pollution of

one day

I’ll do it later

when I have time

time,

time,

time

is the salty running water

that lends itself to crashing waves of self-doubt

and, soon enough,

to the loss of truth).

My head. The Ocean’s chilly depths.

Tired.

Tried.

But never true.

Somewhere deep below,

my head murmurs quiet truths

but ceases to be heard

over those loud, doubtful waves.

Still, I tell myself to be content

because I know that they

are celestial bodies

and I can only watch them

from earth.

Waves wash over my weary,

worn-down beaches

of singular golden grains

of memories

of moments

of drowsy dreams and hanging hopes

that are scorched by Sun

and mocked by Moon

until they sink as sands of time

into the deep, watery abyss

of my mind

as I wait.

And I wait.

And I wait.