where the ocean, deep and wide as an infinity we can comprehend,
where the cold of swimming is no different than the clear of looking.
As the horizon begins to burn gold when the day breaks open
there are people still going about their work
like they do everyday, though nothing new to catch,
unfurling sails and loosening knots,
un-moored, carried on the wind, the hunt, the home bound.
It is as if they don’t know they were drowned.
They say it’s one of the nicer ways to go.
