if the
thing
you love
wears
you down
until you
disappear
then love
it from
a distance

the ocean
counts only
the sand
an attrition
that a salt doll
understands

taking the
high road
the blue
beat echoing
slap after slap
flesh on flesh
the sweet
cry of gulls
singing over
the bones
of civilizations
long lost to
the tongue
of memory

the task is
the weaning
away of love
a dissolution
this melting
down of limbs
grain by grain
until only the
taste of you remains.