so he says,
“look at me,” he says,
my legs as light
as the dead beneath
the waves.
the light had shimmied
and explicated
its doctrine
upon him & I was only
standing there taken-a-back.
so he says,
“look at me,” he says,
his arms, as a poignancy,
were less than relative
to the horizon
in which he was sailing to.
“belief is but a dream,” he says.
eyes wide on the line,
the response was open.
the book was closed
and so were his eyes.
Photo by Amanda Grupp. Words by Joshua Robert Long.
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