Elemental
Morning. Daylight.
Hundred miles out at sea.
On the surface, all is quiet it would seem.
But there's a tide growing underneath.
Morning. Sunlight.
Coming closer is the tide--
somewhere near the surface there's a crisis--
still waters are no more.
Morning. Heatwave.
Water rises to the sky.
Armed with blades of sun,
waves advance upon the shore,
breaking sandcastles
filling holes.
Morning. Rising.
Water is shaped by the vessel that contains it--
but what if there's no vessel to contain it anymore?
Carlo Botero
2001
posted by Carlo Botero @ 6:30 PM
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