If they choose to,
Poets can be self-contained souls,
Individuals who others think are always lonely.
A dark blue cork sealed wine bottle floats endlessly.
It has endured many storms at sea, a shark, a great blue fin tuna,
Has swallowed it whole and spit it back from Ocean depths,
Only for it to pop back up in serene warm seas.
The message still intact for some solitary woman to find,
As she walks the rocky shores and sandy beaches of tranquility.
Could it be, that the poet in primitive times,
placed his written soul in the bottle, after,
he and his fellow monks,
ended their meal and finished the godly wine?
Time in a bottle, a poem written 200 years ago?
I am far,
from the period of intervals where no one reads my poems.
Today I have the internet,
words and time moving through space…
Stopping in front of just you to read, delete or love.
They come just for you.