Poetry

My grandfather would listen to the Hornsea evening tides
he would compare them to the incantations where ecstasy resides
grandmother complained that her husband was never really home
he compared wood to the soul in death searching for a form
a carpenter-he built my sister a dollhouse and me a horse
grandfather heard  grass growing;he understood it's force 
he would stare into the doll’s house and share his visions
that night the wind would the cottage free of its fictions
On her last night grandmother opened the window and heard the sea
that night her husband finally arrived home and she for eternity
he would make wings for the horse and build a boat-his last creation
sailing at night he muttered his wife's name like an incantation
sleeping till morning the wind would carry his dreams in its suitcase
staring into the doll’s house he watched grandmothers sleeping face.