You walked out alone,
no lights, no smoke
along the lonely coast,
only salt and firm gray sand,
a line upon my hand,
solemn child until the end.

When you stepped
into the waves,
did you drift away
on choruses of light,
or sink into your
mother�s open arms?

Did you say good-bye
to the beauty of this world,
the trees whispering
beneath their cobblestones
of bark, a baby�s hand
wrapped around
your calloused thumb?

Or did you say hello
one last time, in a voice
we could not hear?

The land on my hand
is rugged and bleak,
but see, the sun is rising.

Your footprints are not erased,
or the ashes from your face,
where once I saw you smiling.

November 17, 2005

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