A perspective

There could be nothing more to say
all that was left then was the bizarre dance of goodbye a clean break would have been kinder,
but we chose to bury anger with the hatchet
and squeeze the last drops of civility from our union before we tossed the remains aside.

I rose early and escaped, I drove, not caring
for trivialities like purpose or direction.
Neil Young began to sing for me,
but I couldn't bear it; the radio, normally a friend had chosen to sneer at my pain like a rude house guest tactlessly staring at a carpet stain. Familiar tunes now had words that were hurtful and cruel

I had arrived before I was even sure where I was,
it made sense of course, I would find it here.
I sat in the car and looked out at the black rolling breakers.
Perspective.
The end of the earth, the beginning of the sea.
Perspective.
The déjà vu was strong; I've played this exercise before, this time though there could be a new understanding.

The sand was numbing and cold
as I stood alone on the beach my arms folded hard against my chest this was it, the eternal dance of three elements
continuance, comfort, perspective.

I watched the waves dance their way up the shore
and shuffle back again
up and back, again and again.
Like some frantic mazurka that cannot end.
There is a power in this manic persistence;
it goes beyond the mechanics of neap and ebb
This dance has the power to wear away cliff faces,
no granite edifice can resist it.

Was I really made that hard?
You have worn me away.
I am washed smooth.
Molded to your life, I know all of your movements intimately.
The subtle gestures, looks and frowns.
What is left of me without you?
A ruin, odd and alone.

The beach has a comforting familiarity to me,
it has a reassuring permanence.
It looks no different to me today
than when I was here with my parents two decades and a lifetime ago.

But no one should trust this deceptive ocean
It's currents have carried the shore away grain by grain
and replaced it with a perfect counterfeit too many times to count.
reality is blurred again
between what is perceived and what is actual.

I cannot trust my surest memory of you
Did we have love at first?
What happened?
I suspect that what was genuine
was replaced by the perfect forgery too many years ago.