Annie's Poetry

I stand here alone at the window
watching the aching midnight sea caressing the shore
like something ancient and patient
where my ghosts are coming back to life
they are rising from the dark salty depths
where with my trembling hands I had cast them
thinking the ocean would keep my secrets
but the sea is a keeper of stories
and under the bright moon I hear them gathering in the foam
there are voices drifting in upon the tide
in the phosphorescent shimmer that trails the waves
they whisper of dark desires and unspoken words
and carry the heat of nights that exceeded heaven
suddenly I am no longer certain where I end and memory begins
I see your shadow in the moonlight
too far apart for us to touch, but our longing is tidal
because love, even when lost, still has a pulse
the waves reach towards my feet and retreat over and over
in their rhythm I feel an awakening
that allows me to live with my resurrected past and not drown
for my ghosts are your ghosts
made of the same salt as my tears and the same hope
that taught me how to survive shoreless nights
©Ann Bagnall