Something washes ashore,
A piece of something strange,
Bitten by the sea.


..........


I remember what it was like,
Being in the sun.
There were crystals in the air,
That spoke in leaping hues,
And the day made its delight
In broad strokes of golden lace.

.............

I have often caressed the veil,
And suffered pains of longing,
For the quiet night beyond.
I have sought mortality's brink,
With the blind fervor of the lost
Traveler, aching for a drink.

.........

The mind decays in insidious ways,
But the flesh- in its death- is cruelly crass.
The former I now suffer, by a measure of days-
The latter, a platter- much beloved- of tempting repast.

........

But words, yield naught,
No matter their skill.
And if this pen will not bleed ...
Perhaps this flesh will.