Salt

You’ve spent summers
in servitude, hearing only
whispers from your
bedsheets; only fleeting
reassurances;

what does the water
mean in your dreams, love?

is it symbolic in its
slow breath between
your coast and the
monolith?

what lighthouse makes
itself available only
to snuff itself out when
you make the journey?

you breathed new life
into old songs, as love was
painted in harsh colours
across the walls,

silence is only deafening
when there is mourning.