As the combers heave themselves this way
As the ocean exhales fog into these thickets
I charge you with lost breath
Fog hides the mild wane of color, itself gray.
Ochre on stalks of wild oat, flesh pink of amaryllis
Give themselves into half white.
I almost cannot see the cold waves of light
Approach and withdraw below along the cliff base,
Their huge sound reaching.
I charge you with failure.
The road I came on has gone into the soft wall.
I know it leads back into other roads.
The ocean can hold whatever shifts of light or dark come in.
Beyond fog, beyond nightfall, beyond even air,
The stars have come together for good
And do not turn from their ways.
I charge you with a broken word.
Except for me, you have never been here.