there are no drains or lifeboats
to save you, rather dozens of ships
inside bottles, mast less. within the glass
boundaries

you built them in your image:
impractical, on the brink of
capsizing. each time you let yourself fall

the stability in his voice
threaded through the holes
within you. one slight tug

of the string heaved you into
unhinged, then it was onto the next,
a new thread, a new threat. you bottled up
moments

thinking love could be
salvaged, tried to fill
windless sails with whispered

wishes: castaway, castaway,
just enough to propel you
to the next shatter. it wasn’t such

a bad track record: you only fell
in love about 35% of the time not wanting
to be pulled like tides or lose control.
anchored in

illusion you ruined your own
rigging to risk drowning
in make-believe; it was so much easier

to pretend to fall in love.
when you were young
you couldn’t see your actions


coincided with leap years
though it was never about the jump
or fall. not at all. back then, you didn’t know
you were born

with rivers already flowing
inside you. when you find yourself
in a house with water rising:

do not fear dying.
spread your arms
to lengths wider

than sorrow could ever reach.
embrace the collapse. free the parts
that feed the heart in you that will always be
a thirsty, overflowing ocean.