I sit on the bench and borrow the view;
a small brass plaque spells out your name
as I hope you have all your answers now.
I watch the waves roll onto the shore:
the sea’s eternal gnashing at the land.
Your ashes long since flung to the wind,
scattered among the restless waves.
Along the tide-line bundles of seaweed
wet with a thousand tales,
anxious to begin a new journey, wait
to be claimed by the next sweep of sea.
Gulls ride the transparent funnel of air
where the dome of sky meets silver sea,
their cries carry over surf and salt-spray, echo
about the ragged walls of your mausoleum.
A fitting place to ponder life and death;
my body a hunched question mark
punctuating the eloquence of sea and sky.
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