Waves sweeping diagonal
A crystal blue, translucent and hashing
The reflections of the sky
And you feel God.
An outcrop like a crown
The eternal fog like (ghosts)
Hide excrement of branded sheep
And it makes you want God.
The lights of a helicopter
Its blades compress sound
Suffering the foundation and
(for the survivors sake)
You hope to God.
To grab a rusted steel hinge
That imprisoned a living being
To hold it in your hand
And to let go
Makes you pray to God.
But to stare into the Sea,
To lay on a warm fault of stone,
Or be enveloped into the night,
Draws you away, and for a moment
You feel Nothing.
-M.C.
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