Thursday, February 15, 2007

a lament

do you still talk to the sea
make your rambles in the blackening dusk
push your toes into the softened sand
hoping for marvels
scrunching wishes that can be tossed
and carried
where ever the heart may go

you smelled of seaweed
ripe and glorious in decay
we'd babble in our pidgeon french
perhaps never saying what we meant
but then again
did we know

i would follow your footsteps
until they were swallowed
there always seemed to be a quickening
of the tides
of the gossipy old birds
hoarding you for their very own
knowing very well
all your cast off mutterings

some nights i'd write you notes
squeeze them into bottles and throw them
high into the moonlight
wondering where they'd go
what your face would say when you found them
would you read them to hermit crabs
turn them into little tales
fit for gulls and walrus pups
gathered as your children
full of salty tears

and in the day i sail my ship
against the western winds
and its howls and wintery aches
i have no talent for idle yammering
with the old men out raw
and hopeless
and their hard longing
we've all seen our spring
go slipshod into the east
some where with you

i still make my quiet tinkering
rub away the worn secrets
from a life too poor and gentled
built with mute devotion
i've found that words are tricksters
that may serve other men
but i stand alone
waiting for the waves to find me
wondering if they've touched you
some where far away


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