Grey Space

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A Parody of Winds

June 1, 1991

A parody of winds, whispering my name calling to the vacant sailor waiting for the breeze to carry him from his knees

Huddled over in uncertain agony he waits in the pounding silence for winds to break open this vast mirror that lies before him, listening

Glistening, winking water dancing in a wide, flat brotherhood equality enforced through gravity the waves cannot escape

They, like we, rest in the quiet evenings and rise to the warm morning sun stirring with airs of the Sol turning the flaccid ocean into life

As rising folds carry momentary heroes briefly viewing the eternity that surrounds them with claustrophobic arms

The bonds of all these particles do not hold them back from their sudden encounter with the air, the wind, and life

Though they will return a second later they thirst (as only water can) for more, and higher shouting their joys upon the very wind

The sound accumulates a great murmur speaking all at once and all only once

The life they lead will lead them on to a teary, suffocating decline into the great depths that deepen through time

The sailor, awakened from his morning dream feels the splash of salty air stirring him from a sullen stare

As he wonders about this salty drop slipping down his scruffy cheek whence goes this tiny ocean and he who dropped it there?