Waypoints

Waypoints like breadcrumbs,

winding through the forests.

String like spiderwebs,

crossing the labyrinth,

something I can tug on

when the Minotaur

rears his ugly pride.

Modern-day dating,

like attending the boxing match,

only to find the gloves sheathed

over your hands like shields.

Front and center in the ring.

The others don’t fight fair,

knives sharpened, fingernails

dug into their prey like coifed wolves,

perfect white fangs gleaming.

Steal a moment with a man—

tossing the frisbee or grabbing ice cream

or baking Brazilian French toast—

and face their wrath. Homer’s mermaids

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would have fled the scene.

Leave me just enough light to see by.

Don’t leave your post by the lighthouse.

The sea writhes with lovesick dreamers,

and I only seek the peace of shallow waters,

friends, not lovers. Enough waypoints

and I’m churning deep water.

If I have to swim the whole ocean, I will—

Message in a bottle

Walking by the beach,

picking up bottles, hoping

one will contain my name.

Feet sinking into the sand

as my heart settles like stones

to the ocean floor. The sun was young

when I began leaving footprints

along the shore like helicopter seeds

spread from the sighs of the old ash.

Beach towels fill the coast,

pinks and oranges as far

as the sky is high,

girls chatting with friends,

girls reading a novel under sun

umbrellas, girls tapping away

at phones, girls snoozing in the heat.

I’m tripping over girls like cracks

in the sidewalk, eyes at sea,

watching the bobbing messages just waiting

for someone to break them open.

On a beach an ocean away you walk,

eyes to the sea, looking for me.