prose/poetry perhaps a very very short story
a hand raised to cut out some of the glare. still only see glare. worry stalked my thoughts while hunger rattled on my ribs. Time being beaten out by the slap of tattered sail against the broken limb that should be stout skywards not right angled into the .... glare.
i am a fair sailor on a regular day. today i am a burnt out wreck foolishly adrift after capsize. ok foolhardy but who would not wish to be in the blue on such a day. a day 5 or 6 ago on a whim and gentle wind to gather me into nature. She has done with me now and I waft away into sleep.
There I am carried away from desperate thirst and pained imagined goodbyes to a place that seems cool and if not dark it is at least bare of violent light. I blink. I did, it hurt. All is grey apart from land-born angels pointing home.
flat grey sky
is hiding seagulls
with rain on wings