What if I anchored to one
of those benches down where
the sun would glare
off this silver hair?
Would it shine as a beacon
to someone looking for a friend
or as a warning of the rocky shoals
upon which so many friendships
have run aground, all souls lost?
Remember the last time we sailed
these waters, chartless and so sure
we could skirt the dangers in
the old cargo we carried,
ultimately scraping our hulls
and taking on what lies beneath?
What lies beneath,
I told myself, there where
I never let Sun shine. Until now.
Just once before I go under
that last time, could we approach,
drop anchors and not glare
at the souls we lost to one another?
Just halloo in memory of voyages
shared, and then pass once more
into the darkness of our nights.