Obsessive Compulsive Vista with Tragedy

 

I will not write about him today

There is river after all & sky

Of his loss, there is nothing more to say

At the estuary’s mouth, a shielded bay

Where swallows slip when the rocks are dry

No, I will not write about him today

The sand kin to stone, at its softest, clay

Waves now a scrape, then a shush & a sigh

You see, of his loss, nothing more left to say

Water twists in the distance; its route goes astray

The salt in the air sets the whole scene awry

So I will not write about him today

Clouds scraping mountains; the vast landscape gray

A skreak from an eagle, then the flicker’s cold cry

At last, of his loss, nothing more left to say

All those words that you wrote and what of him stays

All those words that add up to the one word, why

No, I cannot write about him today

Of his loss there must be nothing left I can say