When last I stood upon a beach,
I comprehended what it must be like
To live in Limbo.
Bizarrely, there were cars upon the strand
In Ocean Shores: two Jeeps, some SUVs,
A solitary Lexus in the gloom.
My feeling was of dreary, pensive
Waiting – apprehension with no
Promises of anything to break
The pall of silence.
And out among the tomb-like cars,
Our cenotaphs, you wandered on the sand,
Disconsolate, and then ashamed to feel
Disconsolation.
I loved you there, but sorrowed, for
You typified so miserably for me
The iron gray and bruised-blue atmosphere
Of this oppressive outskirt of the ocean.