On a fogged in beach you found an abandoned fire.
In the sand you lay beside her,
this spontaneous companion
that embellishes the blue
like an unpredictable rendezvous
out of the cold breath of midnight.
An effervescent hue to be drawn to
against the stark ends of the line,
without landmarks, without time,
all else was obscure.
You hear fog horns moaning
their phantom communication offshore,
from a secluded position
with strewn wool and yak skin dampened
and a sleeping bag soon burnt at the end.
This encroaching fire
that eats into the future,
a damage not visible to comprehend.
Witness how tongues of flame
within two interlocking lips
are seamless as eternity slips
into stray strands becoming one unravelling.
The solitary road you were travelling
ultimately finds the sea,
the muse, the wellspring of poetry.
In the overlapping waves
like wayward debris
they’ll collide with each other
cold currents to warm
dark ocean to form
just to be torn apart and to roam
over the landscape of what was formerly your own.
All those frayed memories
like remnants to cling to,
like a raft in the relationship of floating
through doldrums, through static
tears awash in residue.
The rain soon threatens the coals,
all the dark shadows
the movement covered over
now coming through
motion pictures projected on
a kind of ampitheatre
like the night, each would disappear
into the other,
stars engulfed by the sand
dew surreptitious over the land
of slow waking disorientation.
Taking this hand, you head back east,
past the rusted artifacts of grief
towards the silent cracks in the sky,
where the light, now dim,
is slowly stoked again,
to spread over everything
that had been absently sleeping.