WIDOW

Someone reaches out for her hand

as she tries to reach back

something grabs her from behind

pulls her forward

his hair, as black as the distance of the night

his suit, the color of the bottom of the spectrum

shoes, as shiny as the day they were bought

debonair and suave...

Don Juan

as her beau, he took care of her

bought everything she wanted

but is she happy?

is what she really wants is beyond what she can't cross?

is what she really wants is that hand?

that was reaching for

that was longing for her embrace

she wants one more visit

one more yesterday

one more kiss

returning back to the ocean

every night

she looks upon with great sorrow and grief

the waves yielding, hitting the banks of the shore

covering her feet hoping to remind her of her husband

her husband's memory fades with the tides

while her heart breaks down with each visit

each day comes closer to their deaths

one already passed from the natural

and one wanting to pass from the natural