He’d run until he ran out of land,
thinking, ‘maybe find me a mermaid.’
What he’d let slip away,
dripping through his hand
above the beach, down into a castle.
Sitting on the sand, eight feet east of the coastline.
Why do I stare at the crashing?
Why do I wander at night?
Why do I believe that these waves are listening?
Glimmer on the ocean, moon deflecting light.
Twinkle in the distance, the sparkle in her eyes.
As bright as the stars, and as out there as ever.
She’d go until she’d gone twice around,
singing, ‘come on, find me a calm shore.’
What she’d once hoped, for more,
swashing through her hands
beneath the beach, up into a castle.
Staring at the sand, little ways west of the coastline.
Why do I live in the crashing?
Why do I call out at night?
Why do I believe that those flames are listening?
Flicker on the foam’s edge, crackling little coal.
A fire where the tide ends, the warmth inside his soul.
As bright as the stars, and as out there as ever.
Others say it’s burned-out.
Others say she’s out there.
this is your life chuck johnson 