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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Death · #1245428
a father saying goodbye to his son, where good byes never end...
We held hands,

Our wind against the water, white blown back
Against dark winged edges, painted black by winter’s age.

We spun a circle,

On the dizzy water’s edge. From under our deep legs dangled the foam and shapes we chose, noses in and tails out, unbroken and floating.

We said the words,

And met our unsung notes on lips grown cold and frozen, stiff, the tongue numbed before it dumb.

We splashed our water,

In the wells of our water souls pushed up the gushing voices, let them go forth, and on the sea-syllables sounded  the carrion like carriage, towards some unknown and undiscovered land.

I loosed the cover

And let my sparkles go from the hand that first held that skin and that bone, sifting like the sea sand through it, drifting hours away, and down through sun filtered waters, shining back and falling with only time in their path.

For there is time

Which recedes across the ruled horizon like the wintry sunset of browns and grays to disappear behind the edge, down to Davey’s deep dark and his dumb tongued mute.

No sound escapes nor bough bends across his fathomed brow.

Surfnrg
03/07
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