In Quietude

Lock of hair,
rock, shell, from beach:
futile measures,
you're still out of reach.

Flight's taken off,
and left you behind;
I'm far above,
sped by tail winds.

Twin souls are cleft,
salt rains fell.
all that's left:
lock, rock and shell.

Will I find fortitude
in mementoes held dear;
perhaps in quietude,
they'll fly you here...