I'm drenched in angst each time I skirt the bay.
Some unforgiven sin still twists me back
to stalk chance flotsam when the tide goes slack,
night drifters dropped as moonlight pulls away.
​
Jane's blood rose once to roam the bite of day
for seaglass, driftwood, shells along our track.
I'm drenched in angst each time I brush the bay.
Some unforgiven sin still twists me back.
​
Flesh falls against the waters' rhythm and play.
She would have cried to hear the ducklings quack -
they stir her ashes' grey into the black.
The dancing tide counts too how long I'll stay.
I'm drenched in Jane each time I grok the bay.