In the dark you are
a movement
a moment of my life that drenches
the others after it
the silk that has lived through water,
and carries the traces.

The beaches of another world are paved
with stones with graves
we walked them today mourning
that which we carried with us
the past that is the past
and the past that is the shape of every word
we breathe of now.

The waters of the ocean heave themselves
like metal against gravity onto the rocks,
like exhaustion into a bed at night
only to be woken only to repeat the cycle.
The sound seems peaceful the rocks were shaped by it

It is only time which has elapsed
between violence and forgetting
the wind is the same wind passing through us
as that which bore the molecules
of other bodies from being into nothing
but a sorrow which is not unlike
my own

the sorrow that is the absence
that is not being able
to remember the feeling
of holding you and of being held,
of going home and having it being there,

of having a reason that would somehow make the years of it
not a waste.