Tuesday, 7 July 2015

vanish. intact

It was hard to extract a wait and see attitude from a now or never upbringing, and time could not be unhinged. Someone was gonna have to ask for help or take off their watch and throw it into the sea. Maybe he would hold her hand. Maybe she would trust him for a walk and a talk, a smoke and a drink. The fog would settle in at low tide, and you could smell the fish that never made it out. Hemingway's ghost headed up the coast. We were lucky he lived that long at all. There was a secret still intact like an oyster with a pearl. Something about the saline seal along the mouth of the shell made us safer. For in there we, too, could vanish intact.