Crush a handful of grass, and still you smell the salt from the sea.---Luisa A. Igloria, “Pantoum, with Approachng Storm", Via Negativa, 06-05-12
It will not cease, nor will the smell of grass
supplant the scent of brine from this sea,
this angst from a sacrifice that was not worth it.
I must keep your plate on your side. Keep vigil.
You will come home, even as a hint of a shadow.
I will always keep your side of the bed warm,
however cold you left it. Come in from the storm.
It will soon be over before you know it. I know.
—Albert B. Casuga