Your footprints melt away in tide-washed sand.

Enough of you remains to follow to the crevice

where you shrink, your mind confronting fear.

Adrenaline holds the reins, your flesh

runs hot, makes awkward moves outside

your will, until quiet drifts by to offer peace.

In the grip of night, your plaintive song

calls out for love, aches for healing touch,

before memory hastens all those dreams away.

I plump the pillows, share red wine,

and still you brush your hair to cover eyes,

and far away you fall asleep, without me.

A pattern brings new notes, a turn of mind

accepting truth. You tell venom to go to hell,

let heaven pour in sweet release, and rest.

The tide recedes; footprints etched now in firm

sand, blown just a little by the wind. You take

my hand. We mock those feeble, distant waves.