Old couples hold hands as they walk slowly
down the quiet grey beach, shrouded in mist.
They disappear into the fog, two by two.
Their lives are strands of copper wire,
flexing and bending until there’s nothing left to yield,
no sacrifice yet to make at the altar of love.
Fear grows like kudzu, gnawing at me; I wonder: am I copper?
The love of life flares, fueled by devotion, then flags,
charred by the dying embers buried beneath copper and sand.
Old couples walk down the beach; they don’t walk back.