You went away
to that hidden place you sometimes go
taking our stillness with you
leaving but a surf-tossed shell.

I think of the injured seagull at the cottage
as I nursed her back to flight
tossing her gently into the air
her wings taking her farther each time.

She trusted me, one eye at a time,
and I trusted her
even after that moment – the last, of course –
she was gone.

I had no way of knowing she wouldn’t return
and she no way to tell me
I guess that’s the way it is
when love weeps alone.

Now I listen for the echo of us
– Is that the past or the future? –
and I wait, and I trust
we can be new once more.