*

You mourn the way this sand

has no strength, keeps warm

between one day and another

 

and your closed hands

that need the place

left by a small stone

 

dropping slowly in water

though what rests here

is the emptiness already mist

 

and nothing starts again

--you dig as if this beach

blossoms once your fingers

 

open and these dead

lose their way among the flowers

that no longer come home

 

--you kneel easily now

pulled down by your shadow

following head first as rain

 

heavier and heavier

tracing a face with just your lips

and worn out nod.

 

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