That night, I sat upon the shore,
regret wrapped round me like a cloak.
Distantly, a ship unmoored,
and in my hand, a fraying rope
I'd dragged across the sand from sea
to send her far away from me.

The tide was out. The waves were small,
and in the sky, a crescent moon
hanging, caring not at all
for broken hearts or morals hewn
by what I'd seen the night before
when I'd come early through my door.

Along the beach, a creeping fog
began to seep through skin and time.
The tide pulled in a driftwood log,
and I, not knowing what I'd find,
stood and ambled 'cross the sand
to see what branch resembled hands.

In the distance, on the sea,
a raging fire I'd set myself.
The ship cried out a curse at me,
echoed on the Eastward shelf.
I paused to watch her sink below
and did not see the other glow
 
creeping from the log ashore,
until upon my shoulder felt
the hand of she who night before
a stroke of vengeance I had dealt.
The ship, now buried neath the sea,
had sent some vengeance just for me.

I turned too slowly to be sure
of what exactly I then saw.
A ghost? A spirit? Something more?
A figment of a heart still raw
from sight of she I called my lover
lying naked with my brother?

A bitter cold seeped through my clothes
and froze the air inside my chest.
I choked and gasped as water rose
from somewhere deep within my breast.
I struggled there upon the sand,
my face held down by spectral hand.

The tide advanced upon the shore
where I lay dying through the night,
still thinking of the ship unmoored,
when suddenly, the air grew light.
The fog retreated cross the sea,
and now I walk these sands with she.