poetry

Seafaring
By Abigail Austriaco

It is not supposition,
          but ancient truth.
Still, I part my lips
          to drink the sea.
Brine gushes out from mouth
and nostrils,
          stinging as sand and surf
fill me
          only to flood back.
Undaunted, I carry on
fierce in my need     to disprove
that there are things
                    too vast for holding.

As brackish jets pour out of me
I try to understand
          why I cannot contain you,
          why I cannot fit you
into this metaphor.

Why must you fill me
                    only to leave?

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