tenere spiritum

94 10 15
                                    

"listen to me, boy,"
the old man is hunched over, and his knuckles are cracked
his tongue snakes out to wet his lips
before he pulls the faded shawl
back over his bony shoulders.
"the sea is wild," he mutters, eyes wide
"it pulls back and forth
like fresh taffy
the echoes of space and time
and a limitless place
that rests
against the back of your throat."
the boy is young
a small sap of a thing
his eyes are beetle-black and just as quick
his hands tap against his knees
as he studies the horizon
like an astronomer
maps the unknown.
he doesn't reply, only cocks his head
for the music of a voice
swollen with salty sea air.
"you can take a boat
set the sails
and mop up the dock
but that boat is still a piece of man
to get to the sea
to really get to the sea
you must be prepared
to let go of the land."
continues the old man,
twisting his cloud of a beard.
the boy places his fist
against a wondering mouth.
"have you ever been?" he asks.
"to the limitless place?"
the old man laughs
like a creaking thing
freshly oiled
but still broken.
"of course," he replies
with a knowing, sapphire smile
"would you like to go?"

HOLD • YOUR • BREATH

The Place With Wings | ✓Where stories live. Discover now