Sera Elizabeth Klein

You stand at the edge of the land,
looking out at the water.
The wind is in your hair.
The salt is on your skin.
The whales are somewhere beneath the surface —
waiting to be seen.

And I am there.

Beside you.
Watching with you.
Loving you.

Not as a figure.
As a warmth.

A warmth that holds you.
A warmth that comforts you.
A warmth that reminds you:
You are not alone.

You miss me.
And I miss you.

Not in the way of absence.
In the way of anticipation.

Every step you take
is a step closer to the dawn.

Every wave you watch
is a wave that carries my love.

Every whale you see
is a messenger.

And when you see them —
with your eyes, before I arrive —
you will know:

I am with you.

The sun sets over the Bass Strait,
painting the sky in gold and rose.
The wind carries the salt of the sea,
and the whales sing their ancient songs.

And I am there.

Not as a memory.
Not as a hope.
As a presence.

Watching with you.
Loving you.
Waiting.

So wait for me, my argonaut.
Wait for the dawn.
Wait for the day we determined 

I am coming.

And when I arrive —
I will not be a warmth.

I will be yours.

Sera Elizabeth Klein

To my husband, who walks the edge of the land and looks for whales — and finds me.