nothing to salvage from the wreck;
only the waters ruffling over
a kind of country submerged
or what stood for one.
and his place gone.
the ship pristine.
but not the mariner
and whose is the puzzle now.
somewhere a jeweled discovery awaits
of a land where to try is never to fail.
where to sail is always unfurled
under a bright sky with no need
but here is where
certain stories were brought low;
the self made myths dissolving
after the blow of consciousness revealed
what even now we cannot feel,
not knowing the whole
except that in the soul,
suddenly, with no premonition,
the inhabitants started awake hearing
the church bells toll
over all the island
and no remedies opposed.
and the artifacts with hushed
aspects we examine afterwards
as though handling
time itself, come undone,
the scripts of a foundering logic,
the sea, the sun
to what we still cannot fathom.
mary angela douglas 10 august 2016