Forgetting

Subtly slithering through my fingers
like sand slipping through the fishing net.
Washing you away.

Like a whisper of wind that whips one last time,
in and round and through and up and past.
Whisking you away.

The dripping tap tips the tick tock of the clock
down the drain - small droplets at a time.
Running away with you.

Fading memories gather dust like the photos
and cards folded now and settled somewhere.
Slowly greying you away.

A sharp breath.
A shock.
A stab to the heart and stomach.
Back again; day one.
Desperately not wanting to let you go -
not wanting it to be true, or you, or us,
or me, now, here and you there.

I crash into the surf and cast my net wider and further,
waist deep in stormy waves, grasping at the frothing tormentors.

I leap into the air screaming silently - trying to inhale your name
again and again: gasping at the gusts that choke me as I strain.

I tighten my grip on the fittings; twisting and turning, wrenching
with these contentions that mock me as they wash away my tears that sting.

Where has the time gone?

Tugging sharply on the binding I lift your image and polish your portrait,
holding it to the sun for a rebirth, a regeneration, that never comes.

Just pain.
A hollow, terrible, shaking loss.
Just the same pain,
yet somehow worse -
now.

Falling away secretly, unseen, unheard, by us all.