Rhythm, free from the ocean, the long lift and break
of memory, from the deep.
At the shoreline the ever reach, reach, reach
of just your smile, our lost moment, and that sunburnt day.
All our experiences roll to me, my love
in the way of sea and crushed shell
design scattered, in dreams I’m struggling to tide.
I try, try, try now to build in the sand
the sense of our foundered inheritance
the travail, of our long-lived, poverty storm.
But yes, yes, yes the ocean provides
your arriving and receding song,
the lap, roar, lap, roar of mourning, and the duration I’m able to salvage.
Warren is editor-in-chief for the not-for-profit, literary publisher, Botsotso. Nothing else matters but love, for the Arts.