A grey horizon.
A gentle breeze.
A light rain.

You have the most beautiful blue eyes, she said.
An unsettling silence took hold.

A great wave crashes into land,
sweeps away at valleys and hills,
and it creeps inland into towns;
it drowns the world;
only I remain dry,
as I look at the brittle tops of the trees
with my tired eyes.

From my
throne of leaves
I wade through
the destruction,

A single tree on a hill survives,
through my wet, sluggish clothes, I struggle on,    
wrestling the current,
closer to the tree;
but it was just a tree.