The day after

At the first dawn, I painted barnacle textures 

into silken sands on the lonesome shore

And waited for the tides to rise and fall

and tune my heartbeat to the planet's life

I saw death as it came to you then, swift and smiling

Each knotted nerve released of its could-have-beens

Warm wet soft sand dropped from my hands like rice balls

Onto stones that have waited at that beach forever, like long departed souls

I knew then that on tomorrow's barnacled sands,  

The sun will rise and the moon will pull his tides yet again 

The path that lay forgotten, buried, drowned 

Will flower yet again, the day after, if not tomorrow