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Previous story: Dichotomy
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Huron

Huron says little to me now

Two years after your death.

July, and it remains shipwreck cold

heat turns the beach from sand to ashes.

I wade out and into her—

the clarity stuns me

immersed

until my body is

as your body was

once your soul exhaled,

cold as the bones of Shackleford’s men

cast away from the Endurance.

How did you endure?

The route of your path so different from mine

I grief shriek to burst the surface

And emerge thawed by finding hope

And comfort in time.

That stranger on the shore

knows nothing of it

mouth gaping stare

lotion in mid drip

just some fun on the fourth.