She saw the sea.
You saw her.
I saw both.
Shadow, shadow on your shadow.
Her blood plants are covered with tears
of your regret.
A woman on the shore at twilight, towering such that at first you do not realise she is a person.
And then you think she isn’t a person after all, but the great swelling mass of the kelp beds re-growing.
But you see the face in the kelp, and you feel her presence and know she is there.
Your heart hurts with loss, with the weight of too little care over too long.
She is striding in the water now. She is life and regeneration, she sings the songs of spawning grounds and turtles.
Weeping, you bend to gather rubbish from the sea. It is the only offering of yours that might interest her.
(Art by Dr Abbey, text by both of us.)