The sea is a monster, unbridgeable by midnight, mollusk skins and arms,
Strangled upon itself, heaving its own breath, fearful by its own breathe,
The day surpasses the dim-light, sharks and serpents alike,
Bestows the Caribbean myth, of longing by a son to father, slave to hero, martyr to saint and
There is a great apology, to nature, which is life-giving, but bestows death upon its own might.
The sea is a serpent, a vampire, a misunderstanding of nature.
The dead arises, when laughter becomes whimsical, a longing emotion cures the sickness of doubt.
The night arrives like a brisk man walking, headless with chains on his feet,
Unable to flee, the breathe of the sea.
It is a ploy! A warlock's gambit, or a man of science, that serenades through the dawn unperturbed by its own viscous flight,
Such as a stream of ravaging water, from cliff to sea, from break of dawn, towards twilight,
Like a lover’s cross, a woman’s tale and a war hero’s lament.
And then thereafter.