She drew me deeper into the vortex of life

revisiting my shore, seeking approval, inquisitive.

Unsure of how far her tides had reached,

observing the impact she had left

from her last visit more than two decades ago.

Her waves, colliding with conflict,  methodically wash up on my shore.

The past reemerges and, with it, fathoms of questions laced with the salt and brine

of truth, embellished, no more than seaweed strung with pearls.

Her unsung song of reality.

She had been stolen by the moon.

I had been welcomed by the sun:

nurtured, provided for, and tended to.

Me, a creature born from dark, churning waters,

sheltered by a golden light, guided by its warm rays so when

the unpredictable sea once again retreated,

the life it had abandoned,

would perhaps be able to dance in her wake.