the dogs have followed me
downstairs like heartbreak.
sadness is our habit.
i cannot find kindness
on the shelves.
i have no recipe.
only eggs and butter and faith.
there is no saving
grace, no blame,
no place of rest.
until i trust the sun
to its own descent,
forgiveness breaks me
down to dust the waves
carry me out over
the years i listened
to you leaving me,
the sound of it trapped
in my ocean ear
as the conch curls
her tidal heart
against the thin
shimmering of moon’s
cinematic grief.