here it is again

the closing in, the opening up

of memory, yours, of you

and how we waited, waited

for you to never arrive, never

o our daughter, beloved of us

all, still, you are still, tho November

the ocean’s high sea haunts us

your mother cannot sleep now

it was the closing of them, us

it was the closing of us all, then

the terrible imaginings of broken

mast, broken sails, broken hull

it is the high winds, the North

Atlantic, too grey, too wild, too

much for us to begin this

our green-hued sea grief

and here it is again, November

and the terrible ocean

goes on and on and on

and still, we cannot see you.

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