He sees a grieving woman, soft and round,
on the sandy shore, sobbing for her child,
rolled over like a stormy wave and loud.
As seagulls cry mocking the woman’s sound,
she tells the young man how her son had drowned.
Wet check on his neck from her warm-teared face,
they slide receptively they in one embrace.
The sun hides. Early evening does turn down.
The two become one movement of the night
just barely knowing each other at all.
With fresh dawn shinning their dew of delight,
Strange nakedness does bend the morning’s light.
Dawn’s guilt holds much more power than delight.
Wrapped in bereavement’s ache, their sin is small,
for one’s comfort denies the other’s fall.
Shawn R. Jones