The Shore

I stand on that brooding shore,

the ghost of you beside me like a phantom limb that aches but cannot be soothed.

I can never say your reasons were ignoble.

I can never say I didn't see it coming, like cold tidal waves at night.

But I can say that I will look often behind me

at our footprints in the sand

and mourn the moment I continued along the water's edge

and you headed for the hills.

The castles we built were swallowed by the sea

in small, wet bites.

Once, I had imagined they would turn to stone

and stand for a thousand summers.

They were were always destined for the foam.

I understand now why the gulls cry into the wind.