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On those bone chilling afternoons

where cloud heads nodded
in unison to the sound
of wave walls collapsing
on dark wet rock isthmuses

she would bring a steaming cup
to her lips
and sip soft silent prayers

A cat
curled in a sailors knot on her lap
the throbbing purr
sending signals to the sky
of contentment and a sense of right
in world where right and wrong
are blurred waterlogged pages
in a diary dropped accidentally
into a puddle.

The cold is a reminder
of days alone
of nights naked with herself
where the touch of death
was a lovers caress

She can see the horizon
from where she sits
the colonial window bars
breaking the edges of sky
and sea
into four corners
of separation.

And if she looks closely
the silhouette of herself
stepping into the breakers