A Thin Ocean

A world passes by in refracted blurs of color and shadow
This world I inhabit, from which I seek shelter
Glass and metal keep out the rain that I love to watch but not feel
The branches high overhead an imperfect rooftop, an old house with rafters full of holes
Muted gray light pooling in the spaces between the trees, as though the road spreads among them
We pass by and the trunks bend to close the way behind, defying all thought of return
The road narrows before and behind, yielding with protest to our long press forward
Traces of night swell on the horizon, stars wait behind a cover of cloud to cast their light unseen
We move beneath a thin ocean, it’s currents dancing in the trees around us
Our hearts swell in time with the surface miles above
We, the lost, wander the ocean floor where light meets the edge of darkness

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