1 minute read
High Seas John D.Kelly
High Seas
You are timber and I am inside you and we are out on the high seas, riding foam-saddled crests of waves so tall they disappear us into clouds.
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We reach the pinnacle of a range of scaled peaks and I surf the top notes like a barrelchested opera singer.
Your hull’s about to bust a gut – ribs straining under pressure; oak carvelplanks soaked inside and out.
At your stern a riderless sea horse tumbles.
