Sea coloured in pink-orange sunset. Like the Statue of Liberty but of
white stone, as a Greek sculpture, surrounded by a million miles
of sea on every side God on a throne welcoming a traffic of orange
sea-fingers reaching towards his victory seat. A forest of waves
collapsing upon his feet. Every fragment of water below him forever
reaching, receding, swirling, plunging, bowing. We rush towards him
in a torrent of ecstacy, or away from him, splashing with doubt,
gasping for the shoreline, clutching land yearning to walk not swim.
No comments:
Post a Comment