Where Alexander Drowned by John Grey

Waves spiral into shore
spurred on by waves behind.
They roll over my toes.
The correct retort eludes me.

For I wish to respond
to the headlong desperation.
But sorrow has no orator,
just foam and sinking bodies.

All before me is transient,
cannot be restrained,
is rolled under by the sea
to cry out then to vanish.

So I paddle among waters
where the dead return
in the guise of an echo
of salt and shell and driftwood.

But the sun’s too warm,
the breeze too salty.
And people only have memories.
Oceans, though, have their reasons.

*****

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in the Homestead Review, Poetry East and Columbia Review with work upcoming in Harpur Palate, the Hawaii Review and North Dakota Quarterly.