won’t budge. Tired
of her name,
tired of travel
and the southern
blue, she sinks
into the patch
of land she’s
found, and spreads
her windsurf wings
only to feel
the sun. She
won’t meet her
mate of thirty
years again – so
much water under
the bridge. She’ll
die here, and
nothing and no
one will care.
And that’s fine.
