saudade

poem for Writer's Cramp 30-3-21

She wished she could pickle herself
in the sea water
and store the moment
in a jar

the way the golden sun
formed a shimmering trail
she felt she could follow
the the place between air and earth

even as nostalgia crept
winding up the trellis
of her contentment
like a fleeting wisteria bloom

but the brine was to weakly salted
and instead of preserving
each wave drew away the ink
of the already blurring memory

soon, the sky would bruise
red and purple
as an overripe fruit
rotting with sweetness