fumbling for the ocean

you reach out
in darkness of night
of soul
of heart
for an ounce of solace
a drop of your own empathy

in your false grief
like an actor's
or a lawyer’s
or that of a child
who has been given way too much

yet a year after his death
when you light a memorial candle
a real one, a Manischewitz
blessed by a rabbi
in the People's Republic of China
unlike the chakra candles
and the tealights
you lit for your mother
you read the mourner's Kaddish
not your own prayers,
the ones you improvised for Mom
fancying yourself
an unappreciated closet rabbi

the well opens
and you are glossed
by a surge of tears
the ocean you reached for
but could not find
had been waiting
all this time

Tormato

She studies the album jacket, the song list on the back, the odd cover photo.
The music shop owner says he doesn’t know much about the album -- Tormato, by prog-rock band, Yes.
I step in to tell her what I know of the cover.
Critics had been crapping on Yes for some time. When their producer showed them their new album cover, commissioned by an artist who photographed a man in a suit, dowsing with two sticks on the British tors (hills), drummer Alan White cursed, and threw a tomato at the expensive art work. The band decided to include the smashed tomato on the cover, naming the album Tormato. It was a middle finger to the critics who, in any event (they assumed), were going to throw a proverbial rotten tomato at the finished product.
The woman decides to buy the album (for the $3 asking price), if nothing else, for the story.