In the twilight between continents,

pulled between two lives,

never fully here or there—

the infinite gradations

of indigo dropping darkness

to the horizon’s day-stirred dust

oranging the dying haze

as we lift up from the West Coast day—

hastening through the night

emerging much too soon,

aiming for a tiny island

at the distant edge

of the blank Atlantic.

I settle in for a few hour’s quiet

while unseen 30,000 feet beneath

I’m rummaging through

a memory of uncomfortable cobbles

on the so-called Brighton Beach

licking lemon icing off cupcakes with my sweet niece,

who finds a heart-shaped stone

cracked through with a vein of quartz,

a heart whole, and yet in pieces.

Home for a hoped-for funeral

Mum trapped between the here and there,

the organism beats on past the spirit’s life.

I’d put the stone heart

in her cramped-up hand.

Perhaps the coolness

Will comfort her

And let her quietly go.

A whole heart and finally, peace.

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