You know my boy, a worm’s life is filled with terrors. Avoiding the light which will dry it out and make it visible to all things that would eat it, living in the moist shadows underground, still fearful of moles and the like.
In the cold the monument stands.
Frozen much like its inspiration, ready to die for all they loved.
Much survives in a way,
Buried in layers of hungry sand.
Of all the things in all the world, it is thought which is bewitched.
A boat forever in port, a captain that never had sailed. It was a weaver of tales and stories, forgetful in his old age. Continue reading “Afloat.”