Zeno

Zeno is keening for shore.   Under full sail, cutting through the water, leaning in: the boat makes no headway.

Full of sail & full of rum he heads in beneath a sheet of aqua sky.  A marble in a maze pink sun traces an irregular trajectory through magnetic fields in which polarities rapidly reverse

Cutting through the water and making no headway while across the yellow sky a green disc sun rolls around a thumb-sized lighthouse in the haze and heat with the three others asleep by the wheel and empty bottles of rum on the table below, Zeno photographs the sun.  If he ever puts in he will storyboard its meanderings.  Only then will he begin to know because a knowing limited to states is not a knowing at all.

And he will tell her what happened when he sees her where she waits, in the somewhere where she waits because she has forgotten how not to and because time passes and because so much fades.

Zeno is keening for shore.  But under full sail, cutting through the water, the boat makes no headway.  The sun hesitates interminably. The three others never awaken.  The coast is always the same distance away.