Horizon


You can taste the horizon if you hold it in your sweating hands,
and the sun might drop like a lost bead of melting wax and burn your fingertips,
ever so slightly,
ever so violently...
You can hear the sea without diving to its depths,
without having to be washed ashore or drowned in shameless apathy first...
The times have already come and gone,
the silent ones the prophets roared about long ago,
and even now you are waiting for me to bend for you,
to bow under your clapping hands, my head hung lower than the silent sun in your palm.