I felt a wave of dying men, and heard their cries, and smelt the river mud
that came from beige and brown. From Somme and Rhine.
I stood where they had been, in Summer
to see what they had seen: the sun, a bridge, a girl and death.
Sometimes a wave tells horrid stories on the beach, a restless voice recalls the bitter times, and I walk by; it is not always meant for me to hear, but it goes on for ever.
I need awareness of the whole we are, the earth and us, the birth, the pain.
You feel my love, I feel you far away and almost gone. There is no telling who we are in all of this but we are part. We dwell, move on.
I feel the peace that we all find one day, it lies deep in ourselves. The first, the last man knows, and in between, we live. We love. We can’t do more. I am aware that deep inside, where we are one, we are alone as well.