Fragment

And she went so far out to sea

That she couldn’t see the rain

The wind there was like the sea itself

Dark and deep and wild

Like mountains that moved with the storm.

 

And every fog she touched

Was like her own breath

Whistled towards a long-lost coast

Lost and lost again

With each passing mist that wreathed her.

 

And each passing day that left her

Washed by another salty crest

Another salty breath

Of a certain sort of yearning

That is born only in the stormy sea.

 

Where grey hills rise and fall

And stretch to the edge of the world

In one giant circle that trembles

Beneath one giant sphere

Swirling grey – and grey – spiraling into each other.