a fishing pier

their life together, like a fishing pier,
reached out towards horizons, and the sea –
but now there’s little left, for you or me
or anyone, to know that they were here

like any life, made up of everydays –
like any hopes, constrained by who they were –
we must as people our own times prefer,
but empathy sees lives in different ways

beside this ocean, on this wintry isle,
the ghost of what-once-was is by my side –
a moment i divorce from inborn pride
and think of my grandparents for

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