looking across the water
from where you and I had so often sat,
watching the surf on the rocks,
swallows flying near our heads
making us turn and look for nests in the embankment.
cold and empty in the sunshine and sharp Morden air,
I reached
out to and across the water
and waited, eyes closed, for justification
and a reason to continue.
reaching, so final and desperate,
and receiving nothing back
but the sounds of the surf and the seabirds,
and the silent, determined swallows
flying near my head.
others came by, with cameras and kids,
as my melancholy deepened
gray to nearly black -
others came
and I kept watch for you,
remembering you and all the times
when we had this place to ourselves,
with the water and the tide and the rocks,
and holding you close to me.
I kept watch for you
in the diamond glint of the sun
all cold and empty,
reaching.
sun and rocks and receding tide
the wind off the water -
nothing.
gray to near-black
to nothing.
7 July 1997
