Never seen, but in retrospect

It could be said that islands
are not originally there by choice,
but broken away, fragments
of a previous whole, moments
that didn’t hold on,
yet the reasoning isn’t always

A hand that didn’t grasp,
but pushed, pulled
until there was no
mutual understanding
of taking or giving in.

Later, a touch,
of a footprint in the sand,
joining it into the perfect fit,
and seeing it’s there
with a focus of its own.

In a once upon a time,
the dividing line
the sun left behind
as it dipped away,
was indistinguishable
from the sea pulling down
upon a feint wave.

Until the tide brought it ashore,
bottled up as a memory.


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