the ocean will always answer you, they say;
so I carve a spot on the beach to lie on and

                            listen                          ­    

the red wine is flowing between my lips
dutch courage for the things I'm frightened I'll

                             hear

the water is waking up, gentle and soft
it wraps itself a noose that nobody can see

                          except me

the rope belongs to an anchor. I am anchored to my
grief, for sure, and soon I shall be anchored to the

                         ocean floor

forever. A burial at sea, with no witnesses or mourners.
It's not lonely, for the ocean spoke to me.

                         It spoke to me.