A Gift

April 3, 2005

Open flew the great doors

Her face was torn by tears

she fled, stumbling toward the shores

The sea foamed as if her cry it could hear.

Onward my love raced

Blind to her flight’s leading

She coursed here to a hidden place

where she hoped for solace in her grieving.

Far back, I called her name

and she paused as if to catch the sound

and she turned with her eyes, though no sound came.

As I neared, the wind swirled

She closed her eyes and offered her hands

Here was my purpose in this ice world

I held my love and we sat by the sands.

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