The hundred-year sea

The room lit only by a candle
A dim reflection
A shimmering shape which is the glazed rim of a Japanese teacup
The round shadow of the pot
Straight length of arm that rises to my face
The hollow of my eyes
All the creations of the past float in the water
A sea of dead things and life hidden from death
Death hidden from birth
From the sea the beast called Horror comes
And he has no ill intent
Out from my fingers he will speak
He will seek out something that he does not know
Until he finds it
He will be reversed then like the tarot
And everything that once was me will be given to him
This is my gift to him though I am not his god
My words will be his words
And where his feet tread so will be my journey
At that time I will be deaf and blind
I give the beast my senses so that he may find in his blackened state the fruits of love
A lover so abstract that I will be seen
And the beast transparent
I hope I will hear then
The words of the lover
It will be years and years
Each day I will starve
Adrift on this wooden ship
Pristine and well maintained
Surrounded by the debris bestowed upon me
Floating in the water
Dead things
Things alive
And I the author lit by a candle
A romance of light and shape
In-between all things in the comfort and warmth of the words