A Billion Burning Dreams

Greenhorn I remember watching from a distance the tempests of inner turmoil tossing their briny maelstroms, sloshing saline deluges down your gasping throat,

until you were certain you could not breathe. This sea

sat like a cracked teacup inside your gentle chest, its waters for a moment calm, only to burst open with thunderclaps. Perhaps, you saw me as a signal,

a spotlight on a distant shore where your skin could dry. No longer pruned by the depths of the diagnosis that is not yours. You believed that for as long as you could remember you had no vessel, no means to weather this typhoon. Your sails all but folded. Although the winds would subside, the tide would always bring new waterspouts and no oar with which to swat them away. They say secrets are like oceans: The bigger they are,

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