When
we pour the ashes of the departed out to sea,
terns
scatter upwards, shrieking.
On
shore, waves claw at statuaries.
Water,
whether becalmed or in havoc, never held us in life
and
will not hold the grieved.
Twenty-thousand
days of light quickly sieve through.
The
sea reclaims its color.
Time
has set the continents adrift.
The
collective of stars slowly shift around us
as
we float back toward our homes
clutching
an empty receptacle.
--Mitchell
Hegman
pathos
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