Winter Walk
That the waves and rocks
find voice here
in the howl of winter,
is because I have come
to listen and to be
in the loneliness of this place.
Only the seagulls are here with me
and hang in the tumult,
taunting the wind.
Deep in this solitude
is the thought
of a drowned youth,
swept away and lost
to the silence sunk far below
the furious sounds that headstone
his name. I am the last
to remember him and reach down,
but he is now beyond my grasp.
I have let him go.
I feel the sting of the salty air
on my face, the cold leaching
through this old coat
and my unsteady feet stumbling
to find balance
on this rubbly ground.
The air shudders with the crash
of nearby breakers.
I cling desperately to the sound.
Copyright © Paul Willason | Year Posted 2022
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