I took a walk down to the harbor where the path is worn thin,
where the water wrinkles orange and there’s sand on the wind.
I was too far from the city to hear the cars, to see the clothes.
I was miles off the map, but it was just like home.
I watched a brown branch turn black against the sky,
as the sky went yellow before the light began to die.
I was too close to the answer, all my baggage was released.
I was too far from the suburbs, to see the houses, to see the streets.
I saw the water ascending and gathering to make the cloud,
and then the cloud collapsing into rain to quench the ground.
I witnessed a circle far too vast to see where we begin,
while the clamor from the concrete town was washed away by an eastern wind.
To the west the birds collected in a swarm above the bay,
like tiny flakes of metal drawn to a magnet beyond the waves.
I saw the water breathing as it was dimpled by the rain.
Routine is the silent catalyst that is dragging us toward our graves,
I thought as the sun dropped behind the flat-line of the hot horizon. |
Submission Name: water
