bearing witness
reverence is called for . . .
a mournful dignity on this beach today
it is far from the war zone
but each wave carries the remains
flanked with blackened ash
it lays to rest in curves on the sand
not stark stiff birds as sometimes washed up
blown in by severity of storms
here is death consumed
held up evidence
as flotsam 
and left like wreaths
curved around a cenotaph
wave after wave
sometimes when washed out
there is respite
for one does not know what to do
but it comes back on the tide with vengence
there is no escape to being the witness 
till one falls down on the sand to weep
and finds they’re not alone
as the lament of the waves
comfort with whispered threnodies
and hazed in smoke
the weeping eye of the sun waits
Small pockets of new life come up to meet us everywhere.
It does not help the many who have suffered the loss of loved ones,
those who have lost their homes and/or businesses.
It does not help the awful trauma that is with us
and it doesn’t alleviate the grief we bear as a nation
at the loss of our precious flora and fauna.
It is a sad, sombre and very sobering summer.
