Written On A Post-It Note Poem by Martin Byrne

Time winds away
In a very depressing way
While I stare at the bay
And the ocean grinds me down.

Sound licks my earlobes
And this water is an ocean-lobe
And this water is a grave cove
And time is winding away

Away from the smooth sand and rocks
Away from all that is breathable
Someone will find this note in dry socks
Find my awayness quite conceivable

The brine is above our knees our eyes
Our heads and follows us away from
The bay to our beds. And though
We think we leave the drowning in
Our past, our sin; one day while swimming
They'll pull you struggling into quiet quiet dim.

And you will follow my steps to the bay
And sit where I sat to see the bay
And time will depress and wind away
And the ocean will rise up to grind you down.