The Song of the Sea

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He loved her dearly,

But his heart had been stolen

By billowing sails

*

She sang of romance,

Waves meeting forever shores –

Until the tides turned

Going Grey

frosty barn

 

Grey is the day, and grey my mood,

Grey the air I ingest;

Grey is the hole burning within,

This absence in my chest,

Cavern which housed a living heart

Before I gave it to you,

Greys by the moment, the hour, the week,

The year as it bids adieu.

 

Neverland’s Shore

sunlit daylily

 

Only in the Shadowlands,

that vaguely recalled dream-world

which disappears without trace

upon awakening to

the feel of flannelette stamped

on skin, the lunches to pack,

the chaos to realign –

only in her fantasies

does he hold her like this, arms

cradling her curves, head leaning

in hungry. She’ll function with

smiles through meetings and play-dates

and meal-plans and lists, but when

the shadows grow long and sleep

sings its lullabies, her heart

will wander barefoot that well-

worn path to Neverland’s shore.

 

The Funeral

Saskatchewan Landing sunset

Her heart is a sinking sun,

pooling patches of dried blood

on a canvas thickening

with yesterday’s paint. Tucked in

rich velvet and laid to rest

(open to public viewing)

she mourns its passing, pressing

treasured lines of scrawled script to

lips of stone, epitaph carved in

lieu of flowers. Rays of light,

the glory days of holding

and being held, protrude from

memories slashed through the frayed

places where sky meets casket’s

edge. The sun will rise again

but not today, not until

a thousand tomorrows have

burned to ashes, cremation’s

signature on cloud-sealed urn.