A Poem a Day (682): Stowaway

 
Stowaway
 
He did it for her sacred heart,
kept it locked in a still warm box,
sealed with a charm, not a kiss,
considered it his.
 
Rhythms beat into song,
rise on the tides, sweep out to sea,
whisper incantations on severed waves,
things even the gulls cannot hear.
 
An adventurer clipped back to land,
she holds out her hands for the doves,
the silken plumes of butterflies,
tugs on her rusted anchor.
 
We lose ourselves a little in the stars.
 
One day he will prise open the box,
free her spirit to seek out the dawn,
when he can. When he knows
he won’t feel lost in the silence.
 
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, August 30, 2024