A weak wind
being bent as silent structure
on the margin of the hours
by the beach
a walk through the empire of rock
after death
love sits
with legs cold
and the storm of the sand
every crash
is wrath
looped in symbol
of being alone
with others
older in the corner
of mosaic
mystery is a heavy mist
pounded on our eyes
love sits
with cold legs
and the emptiness of the sand
those fingers
to carve in the skin of this earth
the folded name;
the forgotten
labyrinth of him.