I wallow on the edge of a dark mood,
Most apparent when I listen to an orchestral movement,
Or view a painting that strikes my heart,
Or sit at the beach where the splendor takes my breath away.

I often wonder why I am not elated,
Over what is instead of what is not,
Even while I mourn for what is not in the world,
But perhaps my glass has always been half empty.

I visited the beach with mustered courage,
And veered toward the new construction,
To find an empty Wedding Circle,
Replete with setting sun and shimmering sea.

I stood on the circular pave,
Amid the echoes of vows and bouquets,
And of laughter and frivolity,
And stood where I used to sit.

On the bench I watched him in quiet,
It was the last time,
I saw him,
From the bench that was now a Wedding Circle.

I would have fallen to the ground,
Had it been my bedroom,
But I gathered up the strength,
And continued on.

A tree root on the shore stood upright,
Of monolithic proportion and unknown provenance,
Piquing my interest and drawing me forward,
To his placeholder or monument.

It landed where he last stood,
Throwing stones into the water,
Skimming them, carefree, joyous,
Though we never said a word.

He stood on the shore,
Now a tree root,
While I watched from the bench,
That had become a Wedding Circle.

Refusing to languish on fanciful emblems,
I sat amongst a nest of logs to listen,
And gulls crooned overhead and flew in circles,
‘Round and ’round.

I wondered if that, too,
Was a pattern or a sign,
That I needed to decipher.
Though I never said a word.

And I reminisced about what was not,
Of what might have been,
And for all that should have been,
For my glass has always been half empty.

Copyright 2010, 2012