The Assassin Maria

On the beach Lydia’s thoughts vacated her mind
Leaving quiet purpose
Hand resting on the buried blade
As the gentle waves washed the world clean
In the setting sun she pictured herself
A tourist perhaps, sitting carefree
He had offered a drink, a vengeful concoction
This distasteful day in the life of Maria
Winning or losing and losing life
My soul holds no refuge, she had thought as he died
Standing, stretching, reassuring herself
The distant shoreline a dispassionate ally
If Lydia within lives, I best take her home