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