The Path to Finisterre
Not that she had ever been
there, at the end
at Finisterre
where the ocean embraces the
horizon
in hues of blue or slate
as if there was no difference
between them
Yet the path she had taken
beside the extraordinary
and gifted man
who could make the stars listen
to the brilliance
of his effortless picking
of chords on his guitar
suddenly ended
As if it was Finisterre
after all
as if the world ended there
as if the foaming boil of
the ocean
would engulf the far horizon
with the next
impossible breath
Something had broken the veil
that had allowed
the other truth
that other path
or that other journey or
even that other life
and she was stranded alone
at Finisterre
She stood
at the sharp cliff
above the swelling waters
and let the waves of grief
wash over her
leaving her with the gleaming bliss
of having walked with him
for a while
Not that she had ever been
there, at the end
at Finisterre
where the ocean embraces the
horizon
in hues of blue or slate
as if there was no difference
between them
Yet the path she had taken
beside the extraordinary
and gifted man
who could make the stars listen
to the brilliance
of his effortless picking
of chords on his guitar
suddenly ended
As if it was Finisterre
after all
as if the world ended there
as if the foaming boil of
the ocean
would engulf the far horizon
with the next
impossible breath
Something had broken the veil
that had allowed
the other truth
that other path
or that other journey or
even that other life
and she was stranded alone
at Finisterre
She stood
at the sharp cliff
above the swelling waters
and let the waves of grief
wash over her
leaving her with the gleaming bliss
of having walked with him
for a while