Day one, the sun is blinding

and my mind is fuzzy, and all I know

is that I am definitely, absolutely alone.

I fall down in the sand, like an infant again, 

stare off at the sea, start to cry.

Then beside me there's a sniff

and a tongue gives my arm a lick

and she doesn't get why I hug her so tight.

 

Day four and I'm doing fine

I built a fire, somehow.

We have boiled water to drink

and we have some fruit and fish to eat

and a little lean-to where we sleep.

And I talk to her like I always did

and she watches me while she listens, like she always did

and I could almost mistake this for home.

 

Day ten and my skin is burned red

and I can't move from where I am.

And I'm hungry but I cannot stand

and I'm thirsty but I cannot reach out.

She's still there though, lying by my side

and her nose is soothing when she checks on me

and I tell her I'm glad when I can speak.

 

Day twenty and I'm well again,

day thirty and a storm keeps us in.

Day forty and I preach to her on the beach,

day fifty and we watch the wide night sky.

Day sixty and we trek through the trees,

day seventy and we both have fleas.

Day eighty and we see a ship that leaves,

day ninety and we see a bird that stays.

 

And this is our world now, and we accept it, live,

a girl, her best friend, and the nothingness.