Just beyond the crest of the mountain's white shawl
the sea turned suddenly jaundiced,
a weighed stillness, not quite your own,
ascended, and even the white sail
and mast lingered motionless,
in a calm that bore no calmness at all.
And for what must have been the lengthiest
of moments you obscured, an instance of years,
captivated by the sinewy white strand
in your mind, its form swaying,
tearing the fabric of the shore,
subduing grains of sand and crumbled shells,
as fainted memories scurried into your vain, terse thoughts
which suddenly felt as though they were
made to be forgotten all along, something
stolen from the set of someone else's epic.
And years later you would just remember
how it was you were pulled apart,
or what force it was that drifted you
with the strength of a tide bringing you to safety,
or how the wave at once lifted, lifted,
like a needle from a phonograph
above the roofs of trees still trembling;
and when you looked up again
it was through white strokes of clouds
spurred across the sky
the light fragrance of sea breeze
leaking through your pores,
beyond which the world shone as blue
and peaceful as it ever would again.
Inspired by Greg Watson's "Tornado" - some form of an imitation.