By The Sea

by John Michael Mouskos

“I hear Gordon’s been painting;
He must be feeling better in himself.”
“No, Gordon’s busy dying;
The cancer’s spread.
He’s at home in Ireland,
Somewhere by the sea.”

High clouds ever more distant;
The low horizon glares
With promises it cannot keep.
A wave collapses into itself,
Another follows,
Memories torn off,
Again and again,
In the dying sea.

Grief hangs in the air,
Kisses flesh it craves;
The mind hurts and horrifies;
So close to oblivion,
Condemned by fate.