There is no life in what you bring as a tribute to our shared loss.
The cheap monuments piled so high, fading to gray by the rough, ever-changing weather in this cemetery by the sea.
They wither and cheapen my sharp grief, poking up from the ground where you planted them as a final defiance.
A quick gathering, the harvesting of seconds and 10 steps to the edge, lifting my hands, then a release, letting them wheel away on North Atlantic winds. A more fitting homage I leave instead, a fallen tear, a laughing memory and a small beach rock on the larger shaped granite.
A quick look back, a tranquil place that now says remembrance.