I
Toes shuffled the sand in with the snow. Some
biting wind graces our temples. These
dessicant houses dot the shore, a
monument to some epoch of luxury.
One distantly holds the children who've
obliged themselves to be left behind.
Today is some graceful day, we have
dug our hands into his ashes and
hurled them into the air. They stride
in some waning flame, to fall
into the wake.



II
A hurricane looms behind the harbor,
the thunderclouds lift into Venetian blinds.



III
One by one we throw our eyes into the sea
though we find that we are still able to discern
the land from the sky.