112 i stare through the window of a room built on sticks above chiseled waters that have never been still and never will be

112
i stare through the window of a room built on sticks above chiseled waters that have never been still and never will be
this glass holds back the wind and church
luring me into a false sense of safety
the inky beast never sleeps
ever calling me to slip into its belly where i may give my life so others can live
this creature never changing and never the same
drinking mountains dry
spinning liquid depths into angels
a mouth to swallow whales and canyons and silver and human ambition
where life has been given for futures and names made
and here am i
believing i’m safe for the quarter inch of melted sand that stands between me and this eternal greedy sea

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