The sun rises from its eastward home 

Over the horizon

For it to warm the waves’ foam

For its rays to sparkle on the ocean’s surface

Glimmers of diamonds so special 

they can’t be for purchase

But try as it might

Not even this golden light

can bring enough warmth to the Portside Woman

Her frozen fingers hold

A piece of paper she will shakily fold 

And slip into a vial

secured with cork and prayer

Her eyes plead, “Give me back my sailor”

Past the dock

and jagged rocks

The small bottle floats out to sea

Until a gull snatches it up

during a mistaken hunting spree

When glass is found instead of sardine meat

the not-so-tasty treat 

is discarded

Left on the grey sand for The Wandering Man to find

He doesn’t quite mind

The cold winds or sand flees when they’re swarming

He’s here every morning

Collecting tin cans to trade for pennies

Just a few more until he can afford breakfast and dog kibble

Out he takes the note

Two words alone

That’s all she wrote

“Come home”

The Wandering Man turns to his four-legged friend

The mutt’s fur just as scraggly as his beard, indeed

The list adventures they’ve been on together seems to never end

“You’re all the home I need”

From a hole in the Wandering Man’s pocket

the bottle slips

As a baritone sea shanty dances from his lips

A high tide rakes in all treasures from the coast

Later, a little girl with sandy hair and pink shoulders that roast

in the midday sun

happens upon the vial trapped in the rock pools

Her legs take off in a run

She’s the Sandcastle Expert

Whose found the perfect decoration for her latest creation

She shows her mother the paper

Tonight they’ll have dinner at her grandparents’ house in the outskirts of town

Three generations in one home

Decades of care passed down

In the lovely chaos of childhood

The bottle and it’s message gets left behind on the top of the castle

surrounded by shells and driftwood

A rogue wave takes the vial back

Strong undercurrents sweep it out to the far deep

Where the Lost Sailor’s limbs are growing weak

A storm has torn apart his boat

He hangs onto its remains, barely keeping afloat

Salt sting his eyes and mouth

A wave crashes the bottle into the plank of wood he clings to

Its ink runs into the water like blood

But not before he can recognize the handwriting of his love

With his last breath he says, “I wish I could, but some of us have to stay

I’ll love you forever, no matter from how far away”

The sun returns home to the horizon now

The Portside Woman, dressed in all black, dives into the bay

Her fingers start to thaw

They are together again, in their own way