Walking on the Lake Michigan shoreline on a Sunday morning
I met a young man dressed in black
with a pale white face like a mask
a mime either pretending sorrow, or unable to pretend joy anymore.
He looked away, shrugged to the side, cast his glance downward.
Taking a piece of driftwood, he scratched words into the sand
And disappeared where forest met beach.
Approaching his words, I read
“No one cares about me” and
“I’m all alone.”
As the waves at my feet licked his words away
And swallowed them into quiet eternity,
I desperately scanned the edge of forest
But I was alone
and powerless to salvage his shipwrecked words.
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