Edges

A poem

Photo credit: Andy Jackson

It’s at the edge I feel you most. 

Where the gentle wave curls,
plastering sand and gravel 
trowelled from the deep. 

Where the setting sun paints 
a cliff-edge shadow,
still on the sea’s moving canvas. 

These edges are where I find you. 
Where I hunt for you. 

Diamonds dance on blue crests,
Slate shadows trough behind them. 
Barking dogs demand sticks of attention. 
Throw me a bone. 

I can’t find you today. 

Torn seaweed stripes the strand line,
Flies feast on the decay. 
I pace the cold outline of your absence, 
Where grief swirls and ebbs and crashes. 

I haven’t found you for weeks now. 
I miss you. 
Throw me a bone. 

At this edge, grief cuts new shapes, 
smashes wild storms into my waiting, 
I become driftwood, 
flotsam of you. 
And I
bob, 
lost,
on this sea of grief,
which has no edges. 

In my delirium, 
Floating lifeless, thirsty for you, 
I hear you whisper, 
Let me tell you a story. 

One day, you said,
after your grief has explored these edges far and wide and deep, 
like an oystercatcher digging for worms,
or a gannet diving on the open sea. 

One day,
after you’ve curled around my memory, 
spooned your grief into my arms, 
poured tears down my neck. 

One day,
You will live again. 

Your edges will lie further then. 
While you are patrolling the edges of me,
keeping anchor watch night after night, 
your horizon will quietly travel. 

The edge of me will be right here, but grief will have stretched you.
One day, you will be able to hold our love, my memory, your future, new dreams. 

You’ll find your new edge way out there, a good mile beyond the old one. 
Keep going past the wailing and keening, keep going. 
Eventually you’ll notice the light.
A new-born light, like a winter morning.
Auroral, it holds me and you, spans your world and mine. 
Our light, breaching edges, expanding worlds.

One day,
you will live again. 
Until then,
stay alive.