It was weird from the beginning,
being there and yet Kev not around;
his voice, his smile, his need to be on the move -
like the ocean was Kev, rolling, moving,
carrying information into our ears –
so it was fitting for us after all
to be there at the Queenscliff pier,
Kev’s brother opening the container,
spilling his ashes into the water,
two paper airplanes to escort him
and then the wreath Lee had fashioned,
purple and green - a leap from land to sea,
from birth to death, how quick we fall
in this pull of mortality, this gravity of life…
We stood in seaweed clumps, watched
the planes float beside, the first purple flower
separate and another act as a waving hand
as the waves lapped as if clapping
and above cormorants circled, new escorts
to carry Kev when the sodden planes
could no longer follow and as the water,
like the liquid breath of a sea-god, carried
the wreath away and the wind blew
into the heart of us all, so my thoughts
like the many waves, were white tipped,
as I left the watch and headed to shore
with Kevin’s memories for company.
