Salt song

They come with open hands,
with soft words,
and the best of their trying
Praises, questions
all in foreign tongues
that don’t survive translation.

They marvel at the coastline,
never tasting the salt
caught behind my teeth
Singing for the thing that chokes me

I nod, and let them near the porch light.
I save them from the threat of rain
But the house inside will stay dim,
and the deadbolt safely latched.

Once, I mistook closeness
for understanding,
or at least the attempt of it.
I let those who wandered in
stake claim
and claim space
And I was forced outside myself.

Now I exist alone
where the pine needles hush the ground,
and where the stones do not explain their stillness
to the passing wind.

There’s solace here
in the droning cloudburst
Of being the singular witness
to your own unbecoming
In the way the sky
refuses apology
for not being a roof.

So let them trace perimeters,
and trek my edges.
Let them ask the wrong questions
with their tender voices.
And let the rain soak them through.

And maybe,
when their throats scratch with salt song
like mine
When passwords become pleading
begging for entry

I’ll let them in.
And they still won’t know me.