This Night, as Every Night

He loved to sit by the edge of the sea because it seemed to him that the waves knew her name,

Whispering in his ears in the hiss and swirl of foam that wrapped about his feet.

He sat long hours looking out into that blue-grey infinity, adding slow and steady tribute.

His heart was bleeding oceans from his eyes, sending rivers of hot tears to the flood,

That seemed with every wave to rise to embrace him, to comfort him in watery arms,

Because he too had loved her feet as they kissed the sand and pulled at the tide of his heart.

The wind wrapped him in gentle gusts like the pull of her rough and playful embracing.

He loved the wind for the way it had touched her hair and sent it wild and whispering,

Behind her as they’d kissed at the edge of every breaking wave and rolling swell.

He loved these things because they were infinite and loved her infinite as he did,

Just as the rain had always loved to cool her and the sun had found her upon blankets,

To play such golden games in her hair and sparkle sapphire within her eyes.

And so he went to the places that loved her, that knew her name and wept bitter tears,

For they could be with her now and he could not. The sun could kiss her body,

And the wind run its fingers through her hair while the rain fell upon her soft and hard,

And kissed her with wet and dripping lips. Half a planet away he sat and dreamed.

He didn’t blame them for their love affair but the earth had always been a lover they’d shared together.

He remembered each time they’d stayed up late with evening, stroking twilight and touching stars.

Deep in night’s bosom they’d slipped off all her darkness until she’d showed them all her light.

Bare and beautiful, they laid these bright mornings, naked upon the blankets and grass.

Sitting there, so far from her, he knew that he would do anything, give anything, pay any price,

To lay beside her again each night, to hear the whisper of her breath, to feel the beat of her heart,

Against the palm of his hand, to live her every moment, to build her every dream.

Each part of him belonged to her forever, he had given it all and held nothing back,

Each part longed to leave this place, to stand now and plunge into these waves,

And swim this infinite ocean, climb every mountain and run each dry and dusty mile,

Just to look into her eyes, to hold her again in the darkness of night, to love her.

For a moment there was murder in his eyes. He would kill this distance between them,

Strangle it within his strong hands, drive a blade through this cold, black darkness.

He stood, wavering on the edge of the sea, the edge of a cliff he might jump.

The hard edge of the hardest decision of his life, the one he made again and again, each day.

He turned and put his back to the pound of waves, the pulse and pound of his spirit.

This night, as every night, he made the little betrayal, the little mantra, the little murder of his heart.

Eric M. Petit