Drown me in curtains;
call me uncertain —
but when will we be left in peace

to sit in stillness,
free from our illness?
Then maybe the rocking will cease

when we toss our anchor,
with hearts free from rancor —
we’ll lull on the surface so sweet.

But here there’s no current,
and they said we weren’t
worth the dock under their feet.

So drown me in curtains;
I’ll say I’m uncertain —
the sand on the shore is too hot

to maroon our stories.
I won’t capsize our glory —
let’s bob out here with the rope taut.

© 2016 Stellular Scribe

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