The canvas bled
the day we wed
all color
draining
the ocean
as a witness
softly eroding
the world under (our) toes
the rain holds its breath
heaven knows
white noise
soothes,
sometimes crashing, breaking-
promises, hearts
sharp words into mulched glass
Barefoot
I am
slipping away
and alone at the altar
Only a silhouette
before the sun
blinding me
as the man of my dreams
Sandman, Shadowman
roll back into
the fog bank offshore
Off the shelf
broken sand dollars
lie still and stacked
unspent
only I notice the omen
among the flowers
and painted pictures and poses,
as if
a ring
holds on
to promises
or runs
thin
and over diluted...
Only cycles remain.
I left the return
of Spring.
He was gone,
long before
the painting
finished.
Photo credit: me of me
