Like an outspread net torn from its anchors,
from time to time the memory falters,
releasing shard by shard a sheltered thought,
a shade, a fingered relic, remembrance
slipping between the layers of the strands.
Each faltering rush of wave, each feathered spray
of salt breaking from the icy pewter
of the night, each driven silence. The hand
pauses from its obligations, wavers
between what takes and is taken, between
stillness and storm, between hate and desire,
like a promise, a whisper between waves,
forever lost, forever silenced, borne
away from the last outport of our hearts.