he grabbed his shotgun and ran out into
the early morning light
the island was silent except the
sound of the waves and the dump ducks
his forlorn voice shatters the quiet
as he cast about in vain searching for her
in the empty fishing shacks
and the towns alleyways
under the cold canadian sun
sitting in the lighthouse she looked out to sea
and with hands folded neatly in her lap
she had broken the figurine and it lay there at her bare feet
its porcelain shards showing whitely against
the grey canadian wood of the floor
she had shed a single tear
for this life that she has broken and surrendered
and that tear lingers there still on her pale cheek
he finally finds her
bursts in like a shout of infidelity and curses
his face a burning red of rages
but the catches sight of the shattered figurine
and stops to stare suddenly humbled to frightened silence
and like the fool that he is
he gathers up the porcelain shards like a child
and mumbling his sorrow cradles them as he carries them home
leaving her there in the breaking day
with her broken heart and a new life to begin as she sees fit
but she will stay here in the lighthouse looking out to sea
because she is just as lost as he
the years will pass
he has his shotgun
she has the light
spend your loves with someone here and now
or spend it cold and bitter in the tomb
eventually she got rescued by a homeless man who gave her a rose
and they live happily ever after in the jewel encrusted cardboard boxes
in some southern town
he is still there on the island
standing in the shadows of his life
waiting for some reason to explain it all
enough to make sense of his own actions
he believes she will return someday
and mend the figurine make things aright
but like his shotgun he just rusted
and fell to dust