This Side of the Morning

Miles before the sun, I awaken;

the bitter sting of salt upon my face,

and she who death has taken.

As I emerge from slumber deep,

your visage my eyes fight to hold;

your voice in mem’ry I no longer keep;

so further in the ether do you drown, 

as your bones grow ever cold.

On this side of the morning, I could swear

that your ghost to me was near, 

and for moments few it had seemed

that you were beside me as I dreamed.

But the folly fell unto me;

for what death takes, death keeps

and memories are soon to follow;

and no trace of you will there be tomorrow.