open 

old man on the beach
he might have wept

nothing worth the keeping
could be kept

the house on the shore
stands empty now

a cupboard door
swings open

only the boat lies broken
not the ocean

only don’t ask me

the unlocatable sorrows of the heart
cannot be mapped
but may be glimpsed through art –
in colours that in striking ways combine
in music or words that mysteriously
lilt or chime

in no sense do these explicitly impart
significance but make you start
feel elevated – touch – jar
the unlocatable sorrows of the heart

else ask the wind the fire the sea
onky don’t ask me