You try to row towards me
a ship unsteady on this
sea we have filled with
remorse and self-hatred.
Your oars slap through
the same bitter waves
over and over.
We have both thought of
swimming, yet we shrink
from the task in indifference,
fueled by the anger
that only lovers know.
I will throw you no line,
save for this rope
joined to an anchor, 
my bitterness wishing
for you to stay adrift
overthrowing my desire 
for you to reach my shores.
I know you cannot walk
on these choppy waters,
but that is my fear,
which hastens my ascent
up the lighthouse stairs
to extinguish any flame
that may guide you home.


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Copyright ©1999 by Karen Cline. All rights reserved.
Published in Poetry the Write Way: Webstatic – First Journey (Sept. 2000)
Karen’s biography page