A Question (after Zora Neale Hurston*) You say love is like the sea, discovers itself as it hits the shore. Some love must founder in the deep-veined mouth of the marshes in bright frills, snakes of water Medusa’s face written in the fens of Norfolk, of Andalusia or in the oil-slick wake of a vessel as big as New York; Ro-Ro, cruise ship a ziggurat of container freight. And when the sea rises when Atlantic cities drink the ocean and Pacific atolls breathe their last how will love know itself? Danica Ognjenovic * ‘Love is like the sea. It’s a moving thing, but still and all, it takes its shape from the shore it meets, and it’s different with every shore.’
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