Last day of our summer honeymoon.

We sit musing on a mound of sand and

observe.

Against flat disks of ashen clouds:

A brilliant flash of saris fluttering in the breeze.

Each hand clasping a tiny figurine

which, one by one, they toss

into the sea and peppery smoke rising

from the bonfire they have lit.

I imagine: festive little pots of things, dreams

of cardamom, cumin and cream – I wish 

I knew what great beginning and what end, 

what everlasting circle they’re

observing.

Beyond them: A firetruck-red helicopter

circles and circles and circles

mere feet above the splashing surf; soundless,

searching gray wastelands of lashing whips and salt

for traces. A living shred of something

that has just been

irretrievably erased.

Farther still: Two dark figures

huddled and holding each other, 

observing. 

I think bereaved