—Salty oceans
of tragedy and memory
roll waves that pick and
toss you about,
like sand and shingle

And down-tread all
who saw these things,
these

Cedar-gripping hands and waving eyes,
strike above due caution, once you drank
and receded to sock-grey humour
to hide these things

And down-tread all
who saw these things,
these

Chippings were distracting. But I am just one,
here and now. So I always wondered,
When the others disappeared to—