The road lay flat for miles,
perhaps for ever,
though I'm not sure
akin to the rainbow,
the end is always
just a touch out of reach...

stripped from the pages
of some brilliant fiction
she descended upon us
from where, god only knows

some scattered thoughts
about the poetic movements
of the tide, the juxtaposition
of sea to sky, from blue to blue,
no line in sight, where the water
runs still