To You Who Is Loved by the Ocean

I see your ocean crowded with their eyes,
with endless wants disguised as gentle sighs.
You look so tired of being every prize,
of carrying their hunger and their cries.

You asked for rest, a place where sound grows thin,
where someone listens without wanting in.
I gave you mine and swore I’d discipline
my heart, and keep it faithful to my skin.

You made it hard, so I stepped back instead,
and loved you safely where no vows are said.
You’ll never know the words I never read—
we rest this way, not lost, but gently led.

—

Written: September 2024.
By Casey Huang
From the Still Poetry House archive