I was out of my element, the outlook of ocean encompassing
limbs happily landlocked beforehand, I could taste it through the fog,
the way the city lights glowed with a chromic hiss and the shore fell away into artifice, just like all of those pictures we failed to take
the stars are more clear when you turn your back on St. John’s
but even when defined they still drift without unity and hold
no power, we were never under scrutiny like they raised us
to believe, instead our hands hold tight to scales and swords,
we cover our eyes and tread lightly
until we taste flame and we run
you and I drove to Middle Cove and stayed until my skin smelt of bonfire,
we watched the ashes float up into the air, fighting for room in the breeze, nothing can burn in the gut of Cape Spear, so the air smells of ocean and
endings, like the edge of this round, round world, where direction is entirely relative