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...