Where all our colors are bled

Ocean, like a silver armor

reflecting the diverted glare of the sun.

Ocean, like an interpretation

searching under surfaces of light and dark.

Who will congregate

to pass through this state

like shadows admiring each other’s form?

The wind offers a fleeting glimpse

of that which is intimate with it.

Eyes trained on horizons

we wait patiently for something from the deep

to break the calm of the surface.

Fins breach, the sun-swept

disjointed reach to the sky.

One moment, one ripple

a wave from the inner depth

peels through the elemental cleft

to be submerged and sealed over again.

Join them out there beyond the sky

caring not where one is led

the sea is one great stream

where all our colors are bled.

When we returned

the waves broke spray over lava walls.

The day had a perfect cloud cover

of light and shadow

that splintered the open ocean,

all the fishing lines were illuminated.

Ducking beneath them,

the sea was warm to our steps,

penetrable to our grasp,

soluble to all that would drain,

When we returned

we could not distinguish between the spray and the rain,

from the safety of the sane

and that forbidden place

where the mind is a mist

and we drift without footprints.

Take from the prose that arose from a somber recess

but could never disclose the sense of infinite space

crumbling into itself

like a pinch of ash from a bleak sky

or a fallout of stars in the rubble of silence.

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One thought on “Where all our colors are bled

  1. Simona says:

    ..✫¸ LOVELY EVENING ♥ by Simona 🙂

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