We left footprints in the damp earth, leading nowhere.
They never would have found us, anyway.
We hunted the ocean.
We carried on our backs all the weight
we wanted to throw over the cliff
and as it hit the water below, we rejoiced.
When I am alone and your memory sneaks in
through the cracks in the window frame, under the door,
through the baseboard heaters, down through the chimney,
it is always the sound of your voice, singing out over the waters,
that is calling me back home. But home is just a pile of rubble
and you are just a ghost and I am just a widow singing songs
I alone have salted the seas
using the tears I was left with
in your absence.