Cliodhna again. Painting by Renoir
He stands on the strand
Washed clear and smooth
As the silver mirror she’d hold in her hand.
He watches the waves,
Blue green as the eyes he remembers
Full of love and specks of sunlight.
He shouts to the wind
That whispers through the marram grass
Like her voice on his pillow beneath the stars.
He searches the water
For a sight of her face, white as swansdown.
But the empty ocean rolls, relentless and cold,
Reflects all the rainbow hues of the morning
Except the gold of her hair.