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.