In searching the ocean for lost loved ones, there is a strange fortitude that holds us up, keeps us going even as knees buckle at the thought of what we might find. I originally wrote this poem during the search for survivors of the Leviathan II, but it has been running through my head in the last few days.
At the time of the Leviathan there was a full moon. This time, there has been a perfect sickle moon sinking into the horizon at day’s end as if to remind us, over and over, that beginnings and endings are natural, even when the agony of loss seems to contradict that.
