The end of the pier

Salt-tarnished, red-rust metal pillars

stagger beneath the weight of years

carrying century old timbers into the sea

never to return.  I walk the lonely mile

the gaps between the boards

growing ever wider.

I become liquid, seeping through

between those gaps, sliding away

from their grasp, plunging into the water

far below to mingle with the ocean swell,

to ride as Neptune's daughters
upon white horses.