the last quarter

the last quarter
feels soft
it fades
on one side of the face

there is a gradually increasing
voidness
the light is stretching
and slimming down

any meeting now
could be the last

how will she articulate her death
to posterity?

like the clapping waves
subsuming each other
we dissolve into our children

the work is to reduce
all meaning to an instant
of gasping foam

the memory of the ancestors
is a film of brine

riding the swell
of endless generations
in the tide