Frozen Sea

Blue sea, blue sea, speak to the image of long-gone spring,
Hear all the memories of God's goodbyes
In the coming of winter that hearkens a sigh.
Heave just a little, and life goes away,
Lift both your hands to the saltwater spray,
Clutching its goodness, its paleness, its pain
Feeling the scorn of December's chilled rain.
Here comes the future, with banks ripe with snow,
The thick, floating chunks of the ice that you tow,
And the sense that the summer has left you in shame,
With only your blue baltic beauty to blame.

Sycamore Tree

I think of my love in the robes of September,
A thing lost in beauty, a place I remember,
My love, oh my love, was the sycamore tree
That bent in the swaying blue lights of the sea.
There, tangled with tumult, impassioned by prayer,
I sat on a stone with the wind in my hair
As it whispered sweet nothings of summers long gone
In the prestige of night and the promise of dawn.
The winter blows bleakly, but nobody sees
The tears that I shed for my sycamore tree
The leaves that I held in the palm of my hand
And the song of the sea in the frost of the land.