When I die
I want to return as a buoy
Floating, bobbing, weightless

My only job to hold the line
between two worlds

The children shrieking from the left, the boats rocking to my right
The celebration at shore
and the mysterious truth of the depths beyond
Buffered by my fearless, effortless, rolling buoy

Styrofoam bliss.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *