Sea of knowing
I open the diary, ready to read and write
down what I need to know, but
the black as shadow ink has blurred
into the now flaxen pages that
used to be blanc. That vain place, I stared.
Shaking fingers, skin lined with trenches,
fluttering nearer to papercuts as something
which went unrecognized hovered near
yet, without even a bounjor, quickly
flitted away as salty rain
entered her mumbling lips.
Hands with nary a valley,
seemingly of
cream and satin,
took the aide-memoire
as the tides of memory
left grandma's shores
