However distant now, the Sea once was here.
His absence steeped in the rigid waves of endless
rolling hills ― a mountainous sea all around
as far as the eyes can spread, obstinate to rest
on a taut string-line horizon, instead
skipping as a flat stone on the crest
of a stalled present, over the bare treetops
abandoned homes under thick moss-covered roofs
tucked in slivers of ancient wool[gatherings]-
like blossoms grappling to the age-
old slate ― the living always reaching skywards
towards the Sun, then, here, now
in this very moment this floating blue scenery
encompasses my entire existence
gushing like an open vein, flowing, fleeting
as Nature claims her own, takes it all back
to heal, to heal.
Then the Sea may return, perhaps.
_ _ _