sitting
in the cold
wet worry
while
decoys slowly swim
beside
quacking sackcloth
in the morning mist
holding
what is old
not sorry
smiles
remembering him
inside
stacking
all the setting suns
of reflecting youth
acting
with the tide
waters too fierce to swim
no memories
left to hide
anger far too thin
sleeping
far too deep
while
standing in the rain
shot clean
through the shoulders
too fast to feel the pain.
Source