Time left the sea quite slowly,
little feeling
barely a look back
it was gentle like a firelight.
Watched his friends leave
through the lens of a dying flame,
she saw them
close and closer
and further away
glimmering for those few seconds
on the tips of briefly living waves,
little lives of the world,
little warmth
and little face.
There it falls into the arms that carried it
to this ending day,
all of them,
but really they belong to the sky.

Still it beats,
and beating
and somehow existing,
it stills,
secret blood poems
pulse through it there
I think,
and with all the
forgotten questions,
some like grey echos
in all the white of the sky
and it hurts,
all that wonder;
they escaped us.

Now we close our eyes,
turning each stone to green.
Water has
intended
this human interaction,
built to sink
each heavy limb,
if sinking exists here,
and sinking does,
each vessel then
weightless from life
each vessel is a boat

Existing
there can we see it
alive is a word,
then we journey through it
and ask them
show us who you carry
not all those places you might ever go,
little rafts moving somewhere
on a lake filled with sky,
it is the world that passes through them.