Down at the ocean I stare out at the horizon also. I see my grandmother Marcella walking on the line that makes her name. Mare. Ciel. Seasky. She is the horizon line. She’s as big and bright as a setting sun. I stare at her long enough so that she looks blue in an afterimage on my eye. I burn the sight of her into my pupils, and that way, I can keep her with me for a few burnt hours.
