Moving On


My grief is like a storm
which rumbles to an end.
The wind dies down
the current slackens on the shoals
white clouds stretch across the sky
like huge confections.

I still recall
the splendor of her smile 
the solace of her touch
but I really should be
moving on.

I used to be an old man
crying in the shower.
I'm growing younger now.
My new love waits for me
across the sound in Callao
her hair cascading down
like ribbons of ripe wheat.
With any luck
I'll find safe harbor in her arms
before the night descends.




Glimpses


glimpses of beauty
so rare
they seem imagined
the white tip 
on the shark's tail
sashaying past the rocks 
the glassy eye of the scorpionfish
peering through its camouflage
the spotted wings of the 
baby-faced eagle rays
blending into
the murky grey of the deep
like a dream receding
into the night
you stifle the urge
to tear the hose
from your mouth
and just let go
carried away by
the currents and swells
to a place where nothing rests
every last tendril
of your body
set in motion
feeding 
throbbing
quivering with life



©2014 Art Heifetz