Beyond the peace that flowed from her rest
Is an early morning room, with her eyes open,
Looking up into the tepid sunlight directly above her face.
A cold place, an ocean of calm, wretched wrecking pain.
She left us there so we made our way home without her.
Deeply moved by kind wishes,
We stood in the tidal grief,
Waiting for it to return, to wash us into sand,
Ground down by the apparent eternity,
Of her brief life.
The tide always leaves a part of us near whole.
Heart or mind or soul or tears
But never all at once.
The tears never leave us now,
The tears are more part of us than our limbs or hearts now.
Because everything solid is now liquid.
Mist, spray, part of us, a miasma.
Gone but always here.
Even memory washes away, ebb by ebb, flow by flow,
Wishing washing wasteful weeping agony and forgetting.
Then a picture or a sound and the beach warms our feet,
And we smile drying in the sun again.
In the gentle sunshine, her icecream face beams,
And she blinks against the warm, refreshing breeze.
The tide turns, the sounds diminish.
Icecream solidifies in the screaming, freezing, howling gale.
The crashing, drowning, darkling oxygen sucking waves crash back
They push us over, face down into the sharp salt stinging rocks.
The tears riptide.
The tears riptide drag us under until
Until her happiness raises us up again and gently lays us safe asleep.
To wake up again and watch again
As that sea laps our feet.
And the swell rises, looms over us.
As I go back to the early, morning room.