The scent of bittersweet repose
Spreads across the coastline
And there’s a moment in time
That I look down and find solace
In how the waves carve passages
Into the waterworn and broken earth
The seagrass swaying, longing
For some Heaven (or saltish death)

And there I stand:
Praying to be swept underneath it all
And carried to a place that moves me
In more ways than silent colliding grief

It is all funereal:
The crushed sundial shells who’s names
I will never come to know, but collect anyway
The river that carries tradition in its bones
The floating souls that remember nothing
And the residue from a cracked open sky
Dripping down onto the abysmal world below.