Sometimes we need not even move.
They come willingly to their ruin-
Sailors hot and salty. To those who volunteer, we show our best.
Others cling to their doomed ship, weeping, despite our tender
Those we drag to the depths, with a fierce kiss to
Prolong their agonies.
All surrender eventually.
Thence to our haven cave. One sister to play upon her plaintive lyre
strung with ship’s cat guts.
The other to strum with her fingers
the never delivered golden gifts of
I? To scatter coins and garnets like I do men’s souls,
To distract myself from the one, the only one,
Who even at his demise stiffened-
Told me with his dying eyes
He would not change a thing for all the world.
He is gone, but that look remains.
Still it comes, as I come. As I remember.
Copyright Tom Tide 2016