Every autumn I stand at the river bank,
Watching the snow geese fly away to unknown places,
Leaving me behind at the water’s edge,
With wet sand oozing beneath my toes,
With liquid foam soaking my skirt tail,
With seashells crumbling between my fingers,
With waves splashing memories of you,
Onto the salt-bleached landscape,
Then rushing them out to sea again.
It comes to mind when I stand at the river bank,
With the ripples thrashing against the rocks,
With the wind hugging my skin,
With the moist smell of the sea in my nostrils,
With the haunting voice of the Gulf Stream,
It comes to mind that the snow geese,
Like you, shall not come home with me again.