Quickly Turns the Tide

24 7 9
                                    

Autumn, brooms of raking rouge
Sky caramelized, gold lace.
Though recently you fled my shores
I can scarce recall your face.

Distant waves, they break and shudder
As your words do when you weep.
Though moldering is my hold here,
I know only lighthouse keepers keep.

How shall I bear my solitude?
I walk the tideline every day.
Only darker shall this black night grow
And only heavier this haze.

Your bones were birdlike in my bed,
Your wrists knotted to my own.
Soft and slow, this pulsing ache
Now behold, the undertow.

Quickly turns the tide, the light
Mottled gray and inland snow
White wind hollows out the heart
And the seagulls throw down stones.

Where lay you now, my dainty dear?
Do you tarry or further roam?
Wherever you are, do not return,
For I must a-roving go.

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