Fickle

She says, “I am sick of apparitions.”
and her face tells
The beach breeze blows,
and through it, I yell
“Who wants to talk about dying,
when we can talk about life -
Brevity
-or-
Longevity -
the center of strife.”

But she speaks of the sea
in static plea
and says,
“The ocean doesn’t have to decide.”