Seven meters an hour, top speed, pulling closer the edge of asphalt you cannot
see. Mizzling rain glistens your body stripped to the skin. You row,
row for your life in air thick with whirlpools of danger. I cannot look
at you without suffering your fragility. There reels from the morning
sky a piece of burnt orange paper. Death grazes among islands of turquoise.
You defy ordinary good sense. You defy death. You ask so little.
Godspeed, only, to the permeable horizon calling like harbor lights.
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE
Is Churchill America’s Hero? (ft. Sean McMeekin)
In this episode, Sean McMeekin joins R. R. Reno on The Editor’s Desk to talk about his…
The West Distorted
G. K. Chesterton’s novel The Flying Inn begins with a strange seaside encounter involving one Misysra Ammon,…
Does Just War Doctrine Require Moral Certainty?
Pope Leo XIV has made it clear that the U.S. war on Iran does not, in his…
