Aeolia
Ship sailed. Sun set.
The hand that held let go.
Rose in fairwell, blossomed against the velvet skyline, fell.
And the surf, the sea of time,
Drowned the temporal and fleeting,
In sand from the glass, in reality.
Smoothed the jaggedness of passings and goodbyes…
and Death.
Turned from that shore of remembrance and soft sadness.
Face the short night,
That Dawn so soon devours.
Heavy hearts find ease.
Worry not. Forget. Be peace.
Ithaca was twenty years waiting.
