Against the grey shores of distance,
waves of small yearnings,
impossible to remedy, crash
and once more are pulled back,  
against their will, and folded into the sea

In their absence, a trace
of foam and mud and rock,
the outline of a feeling;
Steeped in strokes of mustard yellow paste
and orange dahlias, blooming,
echoes a gentle reminder

That the ever changing tides
which once worked to move us apart
will, with the same motion
bring us together
To float, with the same uncertainty
Together, with the tide