The little I know

Whatever I know, whatever I’ve known 

of contentment and being alone 
is summed up in a few words, and you.
One upturned palm resting upon
the other with nothing to do

 

and nothing special to be done.

Solitude as deep as the ocean
and this self a ruffled seashell;
the skim of a jet-ski on the horizon
or maybe a ship, a larger vessel

 

made small due to distance and blurred.

Solitude. Rich, resonant as a word
proud and unrhymed at the verse’s end,
and my self loosely tethered
in you, immortal for this second.