Shipwrecks

beneath a tumbling sea, some in the shallows, some so deep even the burrowing fish know them not. When, at the end of a long pier, one that reaches out into the wild waves, you stand at that last flimsy rail, that separates you from all the drowned. When on a fine day, on such a day, you look with your soul, see you the storms that took them all down, or do you see the leaping dolphin, a sky-blue infinity spinning on a silver coin of light? The deep has speaking bones, the voices of people, ships, iron, or wood, will call to you, through the strident beaks of the gulls. Listen to what the ocean gives up to the sky, as a feathered wind swoops by.