An orphaned strand
stretched out
between
two dream seas.
Great rocks like calcified husks
of ancient sea giants loom
out of the water.
Ancient trees stand
tall and blind,
patiently marking moments
in a world cut loose from time.
Driftwood, bones of nightmares,
twisted and deformed.
Ocean waves scramble over each other
in a
desperate bid to escape the sea.
The waves grasp and claw at the sand
but only find themselves sucked deeper into it,
becoming part of the aimless shore.
Below ground, slowly, they’ll be drawn through
the pores in the earth,
and cast back into their
doomed and inescapable cycle.
In this place of mystery,
each traveler has
private hands
and
revelations.
Angels of frightful symmetry,
perch in clouds
owl-like eyes watching.
Ruby in the mist
is
where
the world
becomes
something
else.
We’ve left many footprints here
on the way to other places.
We’re still wandering the shores, in fact,
just like those ocean waves,
trying to break free from ourselves.
But grasp and claw and cry as we may,
the trees root ever deeper into the soil,
and nothing
ever,
ever
really
ends.
