Current

I carved in a tree

the letters of we

but the aged old timber was hollow

You wrote in the wind

what you intend

but a storm blew and I could not follow

What of the sand

where you took my hand

pressing a silhouette heart

A rush of the water

like sheep for the slaughter

tore riptides of death do us part

You want to know

where it will go

the ebb tide of you and me

Like chasing a current

where waters run errant

some things are not meant to be.