...
...
There was a transcending blue. The kind that everyone knew was the final hour where the primary takes shape over the senses, folds into the retina to settle, expand, then die outin a wave thrust by undertow.We watched this transformation in silence,crouched with ears to the ground like seashells awash in blankets of sand, and hoped the cerulean landscape faded from our eyes.
The same wave of seafoam and algae, abalone; a last supper flopped towards the hem of our feet, mouthed words we could not hear in the crashing avalanche of skin and scales. As if our ancestors called from the waves, we stood, moved with effortless grace to the placewhere we had been born.
(Cynic Magazine, 2006)