The moon, squashed and lame, still struggled
shining brightly over the world.
The trees, tall and tired, stood
black and stalwart against the approaching light.
The mist, thick,
glowed under the crippled moon. Against the trees
it was water.
All too easy to see it as
like driving high-speed, goddamned, thunder fast
on a desert island of cement grey,
floating far away from colonised shore.
Safe from harm, alone at last,
at peace on the concrete island,
until diving into the sea again.
Hits you like a flash, splashing against headlights
hammering the windscreen.
Deeper. Deeper. Drowning. Drowning
in the milky water until your vision swims.
The world is a cataract, grown large and
for a brief moment of life.
Guided by eyes,
a path of light creating
a short patch of dry land.
And all around,
the darkest white that can ever be seen.