11 February 2013
The bleakest canvas before me stretches In great swathes of salt-blue and foaming white -- True silence reigning in secretive wind That breathes salt secrets of long-dead men Past my cheek and up into the mangroves.
This stone seat by the long-lost coral shore, Worn smooth by the unfaithful Lady Tides, Was once the great palace of the fisher-kings, Before the next brush-stroke swept them away.
Horizon • Opuss № I