The palm trees leaned over the lagoon,
Like long-haired sisters, sharing in a lonely secret,
and we their wistful keepers,
in the thickening dark, while empty canoes drifted dockside.
We chanted your name against the dying light, four hands clasped,
as quietness washed over the dimming land,
like floating pearls thrumming on your eternal string,
an action of experienced hands,
directed by thought, then utterance, then memory of you,
before that unspeakable stillness.