At Race Point Beach
whorls of wind……….or ghosts
……….howl at times
enough to steal a Banshee’s wail……….or mine
mine, loud and silent
this long, slow lament
undulating months and miles
months and miles to here,
where confessions of grief
keen to wind and waves
wind and waves wise enough
to hold me up
hold me up
a borrowed resolve
‘til buffeted right again
moved
……….despite myself