Jutting out in the crystalline waters,
At the furthest point,
The stone sea-wall path ends,
What kind of foolish plan was this?
Perhaps the rest lies submerged,
Otherworldly,
Sunken in the seabed,
This is a path with no intent
No purpose, No goal,
Pointless stones that refuse to go further,
Giving up to the tide,
Abandoning itself, the ebb and flow,
The deluge and drought,
Maybe it finds no point in carrying on?
Turning, I see how far I've come,
How far I will return,
Let me retrace myself,
Slowly to the shore,
To safety, to the windmill,
All carved in careful joints,
Weathered wood and iron,
As cog engages cog,
And the grain is ground,
I climb the stairs,
Look out past spinning sails,
To see the deceitful path
And beyond, continuing ...
You on the far shore,
And I can't find my way back,
Will not be with you,
It is simple, say the words,
I can't return.
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