When the day was dying
I was back to the market.

The last time I was there
haggled with her over the price.

She wanted to sell high
I wanted to buy low.

You win she said at last
I bought high
but have to sell low.

I knew she was lying.

This time she wasn't there.

Someone said
her man had left for another woman
and she hadn't since been seen.

The deepening evening hung like a dagger of pain.

She was never good at bargain.

After the human dream is gone
And we are born again in mythologies,
The sea, the forever sea will remain.
What is the sea? What brought forth
The liquidity both violent and old,
That which gives and takes life?
You are the sea, I am the sea,
And everything is new again washed
In the waters, blood and all.
The sea which is kissed by the
Reelection of the night
And drenched by the star during the day,
The ocean, vast and enigmatic,
We return and she will never answer.

For her
he was always the man
on the other side of the table.

He was fond of it that way
so he could see her face
read the shades and lights
crack jokes through the grim times
when on the table was little
brimmed plenty in their hearts
and her tears when flowed
were not of unfulfilled needs
but a happiness she couldn’t grasp.

She doesn’t know
what she misses is love
or a mere habit.

She only knows
food doesn’t taste the same
without the man
on the other side of the table.