November, 1974. 90 Mile Beach, N.I., New Zealand.



(Goodbye, my darling Rushki). 




 Tidal pools far below double the size of the sky.

 From way up here, I can see the curvature of the Earth.

 Outlined in a salty band of haze.

 From deepest blue straight up, to cornflower blue

 on the distant horizon.

 This is my slate.

 My canvas.

 I paint my words in tears across it's vast expanse.

 I scream into the face of the howling wind in my blind rage and pain.

 As it tears the boy from the man.

 It hears me not, it fears me not, it cares even less. 



 Before me, only darkness, sorrow, and nightmares.  

 Before me, many tears, and much heartache. 

 Before me, many lonely days and nights.

 Before me, many tests of faith.

 Before me, many uncertain steps await.

 Before me, the rest of my life without you.