Once we stood
Strong on that bright pier,
The winds our cry
The waves our song
The stars our hope.
The touch of your hand,
Rebellious and strong,
Soft and supple,
A bulwark against
The hours’ passage.
Now pale, now
Chafed,
Your gentle
Fingers swell
And gnarl like
Aged branches.
The veins,
Rising against
The transparent
Flesh,
Pulse with trepid
Temperament.
My eyes search
The unsteady shore,
Brine sticking
To flesh and hair.
By the changing
And eternal moon
I fly alone.
"Passage" from At The Edge
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