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"In the 1840s, two sisters fall in love with the same man.
                       While drunk, he writes a letter proposing marriage
                       to the wrong one."

My friend from New Zealand calls from Palm Beach
to tell me in her lovely down-under tones
that David, her husband of 40 years is gone.  
She'll go in August, that august month, to take home 
what's left of the hearty man who loved her--
admired me.  Ashes to ashes, earth to earth, 
dust to dust, or in the case of the precious 65% 
of the body, water, returned to water.

New Zealand, Yes! "Green Dolphin Street," old film 
of transport.  Lana Turner in her finest role. 
Van Heflin, concealing love for the bride sent-for 
in error--her inconsolable sister fleeing 
to the sea, whose incoming tide entrapped her. 
A rocky climb to safe haven with the holy women 
at the top of her washed-out world saved her.
Poor girl, first time an ocean ordered 
"Get thee to a nunnery!"

I have been a witness to the mysterious tide 
of Mont St. Michel's 'plein mer,' its glistening lip, gliding 
snake-like to reclaim what was solid, solid no more;
threaten feckless strollers struck with sea fever,
or a would-be bride in wrongful death.  Solid, this earth, 
as far as we know, "terra firma," yet terra agua 
summons us: the cobalt ocean of my childhood, 

a sparkling Paris fountain, its sibling in St.-Michael 
town, assorted rivers I have loved: Georgia's 
Chattahoochee, the fabled Seine, or the Flint River 
of family outings. These move the plasmic stream 
within, washing where the ashes of my brothers 
enrich the ocean.  David's destination, as he 
follows their lead, and Yes! I will join them 
when the tidal heart runs out.


                  for my brothers, George and Jim

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