Poetry

Young Man and Sea

She softly casts, like a puffy cloud,
A shadow of warmth and chill.
You tread on water, intermingled,
Currents of sunshine and deep blue.

Melancholy is a puzzle.
Why does one who travels light,
Pack so many old books one cannot unravel?

But when the sea is rough and treasures lost,
You've still got this pal,
Who buys you food,
And helps you fix your boat.
And he tells shitty jokes,
Like twelve-year-olds.


Late Spring, 2017

Mai Ao