I spend hours waiting,
waiting for the sun,
for the vessel upon the horizon.
But my view is blocked by a curtain,
this star-lit sky, its melody,
the hum of the ocean, saying, "recede,
recede on that crescent promise."
Precious time, she passes
with the waves, enticing my feet,
tickling the rocks. We giggle,
and the soil leaves a question.
Why not remain on this shore?
In the distance, I hear the house, its voices,
their warm invite. It tempts me to return.
A thought blows. Never, not a chance!
But my heart flirts with it,
the hairs on my body stretch out to it.
Never, not a chance! bellows my mind again.
“There is no love in Locksley Hall
only the love that leeches onto memory.”
I swallow my resolve, waiting for the vessel.
Samuel Rubadiri 