Twenty One

I stand by her grave, where praise be, i hope to be saved, her eyes like thunder, wine dark on the sea, they make me shudder, in the blue Nave, stripped like the trees, nothing's left to trade, between here and surrender, the old amber need, doesn't stay to linger, my voice starts to break, it's late for the season, geese honk on their way, her face is the wonder, happy laughing clean, that i tore asunder, it's quiet by this place, fifty years of need, for my allotted space, she makes for me.