No one ever put pen to paper because everything was, or is, just as it should be. Things are not as they should be. They’ve been unusual for a while. A week ago, the sea was sunny, hopeful, warm. Nothing on the horizon was looming and laden with possible treachery. The safety of the shore was not so very far away. In between the sinking of the shore and the unfolding oppression of the tide, I come to the drowning sea. Waves shut it all down and declare this small world out of order.
Swelling waters, clap like thunder. Give up the ghost. Applause. No one really wants to watch you disappear.
I am disappearing.