A moment in sand — Menorca — photo by author

To all of those who speak without words
The secret singers
whose life is melody
given free

I am sorry.

The echo of sorrow lingers
chords of loss at first
A rest held too long
the score on pause
the cue given and no response

Later, falls
the unknowing silence
when memory, like a dirty wrapper
wind blown and lost
what it held long gone

Thunder on the plains
skies dark with wings
Wind through trees without end
We saw it as bounty
not a gift

And now, still,
waves rush restless to the shore
sands swept clean
not a sign of what was once
what are they to think that follow,
never having known
Taking for granted as we have always done
that what we’re given is eternal.

I stand and look to the horizon,
no sign, no quarter,
what was once is gone and may never be again
Was it meant to be?
What is, now,
the burden we carry,
a guilt uniquely ours,
even if they never realize,
what we have stolen.

Writer, walker, poet, educator. Commercial fisherman, builder, donut maker, organic grower. Boston, U. City, Maine, South Africa, Madrid.

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