Of horizon; 

of soaring seven feet above unwavering ocean, 
speeding fast and high above
the separated distance
like inches from lips.
Mountainous waves stretching higher and taller
(gravitated by?) 
all the tribulations
now steadfast and proud. 
The swirls of blue enrapture, this tempest siren of sirens swirling as I —

…towards horizon;

in lieu of this shambled raft I grasp – 
buckling under the rapture of this storm’s content,
I see no Sun. 
These blue walls turned shadows
threatening collapse and promising pummel;
tackled to the depths no creature has known
as shadow turns dark – 
and Oblivion, 
of the thalassic lateral depraved entirely –

…of horizon.
I dream.