She sits on the bench closest
to the sand; able eyes,
smart soul. Meek, careful,
honest maybe. Talking; once
a psychologist,
always.

How do you loose
your wife, your life, I ask.

Irises as blue as her
goodwill dress, arranged
properly over the wooden
boards where legs crossed
elegantly.

Asking
a fellow rifle bird
about the weather.
Supping 
up some whiskey the skater
brings along because of his
birthday and guardians. It is
good to travel, she says. It is
time for beach now
next month an island. 

It doesn't rain as much
anymore.
Lady Di and Mother Theresa
were good women.

I'm not really afraid
of you.

Irises bluer because of her
tears. The moment I let her
go, I retired. She showed me.
My wife, my life.

I saw someone at home
behind those eyes.
I saw someone go.