Poetry

Passive

Perhaps it was a letter

written long ago

to wayfaring strangers

on beaches and swimmers

at the low tide

that just had to be found,

perhaps it was a ship floating

farther out in the waves

to carry away those who

found vessels in tight spots

that had to be found,

or perhaps it was the liquid itself

as it sloshed to and fro

around and around,

enough to float away

or enough to drown in,

but perhaps it didn’t matter much

when the last drop

passed through the empty bottle

to the lips

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