This morning
the tide whispered in my skull
of lutes
birdsong and
broken glass bottles,
long-dead secrets and
longer-dead lovers.

– and the seagulls sobbed overhead
and the wind put its fingers to my neck
all the better to draw breath with
and the waves in their crumples
like autumn underfoot
murmured ceaselessly.

This morning I
opened my eyes and
lost you.