Pale, thin fog, white
weaves like soft, sheer lawn
along the rock-strewn coast.
We swing past the fort;
its onion dome
is an odd Russian touch
to an oddly pristine scene,
devoid of gulls or seals.
Not even sea shells
are to be had today.
No, not one.
Solitary, a man runs
towards us from so far away.
Vast, this world shows us itself --
vast and freeing.
We are not seeing
where we are as we are
(for once) but as it is.
All we need today is set
to the sound of lapping waves
as the sun shatters over swathes of gray.
No comments:
Post a Comment