There is a curtain of velvet

thick with infinite space

My fingers disappear

as I point to the West

Still I hear its protest.

The sea doesn't stop

Even when it is out of sight

I hear its' churning

I know it's there, past this

past me.

Just as I know, my face

my true face

exists past my own

barrier of condensation.

It is a miracle of means

that I don't stumble with

every step.

Visability is low

and I am careless in my search.

The gulls overhead

The crows at my feet

Seem to be in on the rescue attempt.

Even my pup, with her

nose to the ground

appears to be searching

for whats underneath.