Waypoints

  Waypoints like breadcrumbs,

  winding through the forests.

  String like spiderwebs,

  crossing the labyrinth,

  something I can tug on

  when the Minotaur

  rears his ugly pride.

  Modern-day dating,

  like attending the boxing match,

  only to find the gloves sheathed

  over your hands like shields.

  Front and center in the ring.

  The others don’t fight fair,

  knives sharpened, fingernails

  dug into their prey like coifed wolves,

  perfect white fangs gleaming.

  Steal a moment with a man—

  tossing the frisbee or grabbing ice cream

  or baking Brazilian French toast—

  and face their wrath. Homer’s mermaids

  Stolen story; please report.

  would have fled the scene.

  Leave me just enough light to see by.

  Don’t leave your post by the lighthouse.

  The sea writhes with lovesick dreamers,

  and I only seek the peace of shallow waters,

  friends, not lovers. Enough waypoints

  and I’m churning deep water.

  If I have to swim the whole ocean, I will—

  Message in a bottle

  Walking by the beach,

  picking up bottles, hoping

  one will contain my name.

  Feet sinking into the sand

  as my heart settles like stones

  to the ocean floor. The sun was young

  when I began leaving footprints

  along the shore like helicopter seeds

  spread from the sighs of the old ash.

  Beach towels fill the coast,

  pinks and oranges as far

  as the sky is high,

  girls chatting with friends,

  girls reading a novel under sun

  umbrellas, girls tapping away

  at phones, girls snoozing in the heat.

  I’m tripping over girls like cracks

  in the sidewalk, eyes at sea,

  watching the bobbing messages just waiting

  for someone to break them open.

  On a beach an ocean away you walk,

  eyes to the sea, looking for me.