If you were lonely, like God at the end of everything,
and you saw the last instant of earth blue against the void,
you might give up knowing facts, figures, art and literature
for the preference of imagining new worlds out of nothing.
The fog enters through the kitchen window
and obscures dinner as it cooks on the stove.
You think about the sadness of fog wisps dying
above the frypan where fresh salmon sizzles.
Not the sadness you felt at the dead that wash upon the beach
or the audible dirge the ocean sings every minute of the day.
The ocean argues against the notion it is blue in color or mood
or attitude—only in plastic flotsam is it so colored.
One day, you expect, a monster will emerge from the sea
and its wild beauty will completely overwhelm your senses.
copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney