The Leftover Pieces

We called our vessel the  

David Robert Jones.

A time of travelling,

esoteric and distanced from others.

Bodies without borders,

boundaries blurred by betrothal.

You told me a mariner’s tale

of two and their tangible, yet,

futile future.

Life based on oblique sailing strategies

and the fear of seeing a mermaid.

Folklore guiding a doomed ship

close enough to land,

but far enough away to never see it again.

And somewhere, 

out there,

a relationship of jetsam

and leftover pieces.