I)
Each recounted word is a stroke.
Whatever stroke away
undertow roars stronger,
pulls back into the old pattern
of disappointment and regret,
all I could give the shore
was “lovely and pleasant”.

I lift these words
past the crests
into rise and fall,
repurposed, reimagined
regular rhythm onwards.

Though these recorded words
are on the abandoned shore,
a tenuous link to a life
best left to its own devices,
that dwindles with each stroke away.