An ocean's thirst

Her image was the flame into which he could

stare but not fall; 

circumambulate on cold 

nights, rain-drenched afternoons; 

but not hold

And when a white summer came to be, 

he let her go; 

As one does of ocean wave 

echoes; 

When indoors, alone on white sheets.

Everyone at any point 

could have had it all

But those miserly hands of fate hold it out 

Only to those who were 

not him, or her.

And it is true no matter 

What they tell you;

That the ocean thirsts too

For rain;

as much as for those flames