She's approaching the end of the pier now.
I fear she will get too close.
I want to scream to stop
her, but it is too late
for the voice's effect.
Too late to retrieve
the years, to find
the signs of a life-line,
to read the messages
unreceived. The water
shrouds her quickly, the waves
wash her face undefined, the eyes
little more than oysters,
and the gray casket closes.
I reach out--
as though I might reverse it,
but her arms stay by her side,
and I am sinking faster
with the weight of our demise.
I look up through the murkiness to see
she's walking away from the pier now.
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