Wednesday, December 19, 2012

The Rising Tide

Between all the words we don’t say
The planes vanishing into the clouds over the infinite black ocean
Venice at night; surreal in its absence
The clowns and jesters scuttled away somewhere to take refuge from the cold  
The tide smashing violently at the rocks as it comes in from a point so low in the sand I have never seen it there before
The foam running between our still legs, fracturing into little clumps of bubbles scurry back to the long curtainous waves like juvenile creatures that seek comfort
Your instrumental words are resonating across the ocean as the jet engines growl in the distance
What else would I expect of you?
This is why you’re here, now, in this moment
Dragging out into one long moment we’ve repeated so many times before
Drawn-out like the threads of fate; stretched tightly between Lachesis’ hands
Over curtains of foam charging back up the beach
Orange in the light pollution, smelling of feted water
The innumerable people and their inhabitations make us so small
I walked away
Trying not to think of the idea of never seeing you again
Where the kelp decays under an orange sky
you became an unidentifiable silhouette against the ocean foam
for a moment I felt comfort in the idea that we were just two shadows soaking in the stillness of the night      

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