By the Sea

in memory of Gordon Campbell
‘I hear Gordon’s been painting,
he must be feeling better in himself.’
No, Gordon’s busy dying;
the cancer’s spread.
He’s at home in Ireland
somewhere by the sea.’

High clouds ever more distant.
The low horizon glares
with promises it cannot keep.
A wave collapses into itself,
another follows.
Memories torn off, again
and again, in the dying sea.
Grief hangs in the air,
kisses flesh it craves.
The mind hurts and horrifies.
So close to oblivion,
condemned by fate.