Further
nothing is further
than a horizon
on a day at sea
storm surge nil, line beyond
the rock of swells
and slap of sea on hull
the horizon,
that crisp ring
that noose
a scalpel cut
between gray and gray
between realms
it cleaves high and low
it's a rift we never breach
but ever keep our eyes on
the edge we never reach
the prey we never snatch
a shore we never beach
a gate that’s never latched
the horizon is tight-lipped and taut
as a lute string strung from zip to zip
distant as a hoax
a hold we never grip
.
.
by Jim Culleny 9/7/12