a message in a bottle
was buoyed for eighty years
in swirling pacific fingers

a hovering two of spades,
cheap trick
a clean finger behind a tilted card
dipping between farce and fact,
one decade under truthful salty storms,
one decade riding high above kelp
and entanglements.
three years to make a circle around a bubble.

children of sand
found it.
they mouthed eighty years
from scratched paper.
" perhaps
I lived."