Again we see a cloud of seals—as if by their mating,
they join the land with the sea and sky.
Sit here, sir, on the edge, out of their sight.
Sit and let their words sit inside you.
In this darkness, they look like mounds of sand,
a crust that must form in the tides.
We of the Earthcutt, we
will bury a loved one here today
among this procreation.
We will ask it
to take its breath back,
its voice back, its words—that speak
so valiantly for him—back.
We will write his names. We will write the verbs
as the tides let us—in a kind of prayer
that unites the near-living with the near-dead.
We will continue to listen
even as the words empty,
as they crash inside the beach.
We know we lack body. We lack substance.
In what will emerge, we will find our place.
May the peace of our home
stay with you and your absent family.
May it stay in the sand.
May we bury the words we write right here—as
the sea will take all of us—
my friend, our many eyes, myriad friends.
Life is prayer.
The Earthcutt send you blessings.
We wash away.