This is a third draft with revisions, shared with dVerse.
We took you to the edge of the sea,
to tug your anchor, stretch your world.
We knew the sea’s edge and beyond.
We’d ridden it hard through our years,
reached landfall on its horses,
vaulted from their rolling backs
onto stones, afraid but laughing.
We’d heard the voices in its throat
and we listened the long vowels
into meaning. But now it’s a language
lost to us, broken into spume and spray,
salt frost that falls away ashore.
You watched those horses reining in,
your golden scrutiny solemn. And,
as they turned and rode away again,
Canute without a care, you turned,
and stamped up the shingle, lay down
and curled into sleep to dream
in a heartbeat, rich and true, the slow
chant of the tide, its wordless lullaby.