Gilded strand on the silent shore
Without a wave to break upon it
The sea rests calm, my heart at war
In wait of the tides to consume love writ

Waters rest though and my love will stay
My love will decay on this fading strand
Before you wash away the words I say
I'll have written again with my weary hand

Even as the sun descends fast on your blue
And the moonrisen glow my night softly lit
I'll shed my feelings to the sand anew
In case your waves break at dawn to it

And once you find my love that lay here in sand
My only expectance is for you to understand

I wrote a poem in my sleep last night.
It was about how we feign flexibility
just to hide our jealousy;
how a night of drinking is supposed to soothe years of neglect
and a day of headaches is supposed to pound out the sad.

I don’t remember the poem, but I remember it related to
your sorries and goodbyes.
It related to how they left just as quickly and silently as you did.

And I’m still waiting for them like an idiot,
waiting for the rain in the drought and the food in the famine.
As if I deserve some kind of closure that really doesn’t matter.