The wind pulling my hair into an explosive array behind my head
Tears streaking from the corners of my eyes
joining the hair for a moment
then fly away
Looking out over the sea into the richest fog curling like spires
Seven people clad in blue silk and salty air
stoop to thrust hands into the sand
The eighth stands straight and mocks the wind with a line of posture
The sound of rippling silk fills the air as the darkness sinks into the ground
Eight raise their heads as the horizon shimmers
vibrating across the vision
like a curse
"You'll never make it." says One, breaking the silence.
Three stares ahead, shaking her head sadly.
The top edge of the sun boils the convex of the world as it slides into view
"Always appearing and then disappearing." says Six.
"Always spinning." Four corrects Six.
"You'll never make it." Repeats One, as Eight walks towards the edge of the pier.
Plasticine fingers worrying as foam taps gently against wood along the water edge.
Seven turns and leaves for a moment then returns
toes shuffling rocks
hands in pockets
Five hugs himself cold against the wind
Pressed against the edges of reality and staring at the sun with dilated pupils
Blue silk rippling in the wind
Tears, flying backwards from the corners of the eyes
The sun leaps from the horizon into the midnight sky.