I Hear the Gapped Heart

My past is blind, locked in its own code.
The sunlight is the only gold I own.
Grief, birth, the scent of night rain,
time’s count down is my inheritance.

The wind that lifts the sea, leaves it’s salt 
drying on my fingers- a dream salvaging 
the tideline’s gleanings for things once
generous, intense, yet lush and lean.  

I hear your voice in a tune almost forgotten,
in the space where loss and salvage meet,
one that fits grief’s cadences in the  receding 
clash of night waters looking for a way back.