What remains

House of Heart

the early morning tide,
a sunrise burned into the
sky… fire.
A breaking,  not  waves or light,
something inside.
The wing beat of sea gulls
scatter across the sky,
regathering they pass by again.
You crumble like dry leaves
in the palm of my hand,
surrender your last sigh and
like driftwood slip away.

art by Rick Loggia

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