Enduring

Old man weary across the sand strides
Muddy up to his crusty waders
And one mournful seagull cry his face falls but
Wait
--There is more (Not the end)
Dull coughing engine in the distance coming close closer still he
     
       Leans his shoulders against the coming fog
Unconscious
He
Trudges deftly among the grime and listens
(Waiting, waiting) The sound of his dreams, the sound that
He does not dare (wants)
To believe even though like a fresh breeze in his cellar it is taking him back far back to an apple orchard (her, yes, her) and the light (yes, the way it looked when it hit her face) and (her laughter, her smile, just for him) the sound of warm wind in warm leaves, warm green

Crashing splashing waves he is tuned to the sea tuned to it now for many years (such a long time ago)
Look up!
Now the prow hits the strand and
Now there is a crunch of exhausted pebbles
And a greeting slow-spread grin (old friends)

Climb through the brine and the salt and
The improbable lucky accumulation of age and rime
Look to the east, look to the day (hope hope hope how familiar)

And as we face forward, follow a pointing finger
Back, back and straining eyes see (did you know it, did you trust it all the time?)
She is waving from the window.