They were watching, out there past men’s knowing, where stars are drowning and whales ferry their vast souls through the black and seamless sea.
perhaps beyond those shrouded swells another man did walk with another child on the dead gray sands. Slept but a sea apart on another beach among the bitter ashes of the world or stood in their rags lost to the same indifferent sun.
In his dream she was sick and he cared for her. The dream bore the look of sacrifice but he thought differently. He did not take care of her and she died alone somewhere in the dark and there is no other dream nor other waking world and there is no other tale to tell.
Small things.
Low tide, dead things.
The desert upon which so many have been broken is vast and calls for largeness of heart but it is also ultimately empty.
They were watching, out there past men’s knowing, where stars are drowning and whales ferry their vast souls through the black and seamless sea.
