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.
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