To the Pirate Captain

Take me away from this place, I don’t
want to leave anything behind,
not even a message on the kitchen
table to say:  I’ll be back soon.
Start a flood, let water lap at the edges
of my dreams, my bed a life raft
as you slowly push me out to sea.
When the surge is high and I can
no longer reach the sandy floor,
wake me up. Let your eyes be
the first thing that I see and
a cloudless blue sky and my own
face reflected back at me. Let me
feel your hands encircling my ribs
as if to crush out the very breath
that lives in me. When I am fully awake,
I’ll ride on your shoulders through
the advancing storms. Monsoons
will batter us. Fierce currents
and lunar tides will pull us apart. When
the wind has abated and the rain
softened we will drift, cleaved
from each other. Waves will turn
us over and about as we draw near
to some shore and there: a tall palm
tree with all its leaves blown off,
a white rock on a granite cliff,
an inlet with a tiny stream, a cluster
of rocks jutting into the sea, landmarks
where we will find each other again.