Gold wire, the last bit of sun held taught against
the dry collarbone of sand.

Here is where
You said, “the calcium makes
the water blue”
And I asked, “what does limestone taste like,
is it sour?”
You laughed.

Since we got the news, every
step through time feels
terminal
like the flutter of a moth’s wings,
unsuspecting towards light.

Here is where
time will be measured
by how brittle your enamel becomes
under the weight of life
growing around it.

You would chuckle if I asked
“does the calcium
turn the soil blue?”
I don’t ask.
Instead, I watch the pebble grey hair
wash up on the shore
of your bony temples.

I can’t bear to see you leave so slowly