It is your nerves that make my life
Stumble, juggle in your hands as you try to
Grip me — make some sense of me — the
Watery fluid wastes away, slipping through the fingers,
Your vision of a past in me lingers:
“Please, stay with me”: I have begged before
For more — for more wherever I had felt
That I had been served less. Less of what in all
Really matters. When it is taken away, bit by bit
As you sit there watching, loving, admiring it.
“It will come, then, to a day that I can come no more”.
Accepted wisdom in passionless eyes.
Far far away even the most ardently held long reaching
Benevolence of one’s vision dies. “And when that day
Comes to pass, to you, I will come no more”.
These words I know I have heard some time,
Some place in a half awakened disbelieving dream.
Tomorrow never comes. The moment’s arrival
Is only an anticipation to the worst of
One’s flux in survival.
Life will carry on — you know that I
and you and you will well get by — and the
Spirit of the sea in the echo revive
The resurgent medley of the sea nymphs’ twitter.
Reflective shells along the vacant sky.