In later years, a loss of memory

causes lapses of self-knowledge and worth,

the din and tragedy of the manic-always-on

runs hard from the dynamic of alone,

it’s undertow of death-wish.

A conch meditating exit on a coral beach,
the senile novice prays to be removed from

the isolation of widowhood,

confesses younger lifetimes,
listens intently for anyone, a forager.

 

Had it remained unto itself,

calmed by ocean mantra,

basking in sedentary sun,

the secluded shell could do no more than echo

and dream of having been eternal home.