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
AOC’s Illogical Case for Egg Freezing
This is Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez’s week. Amid the backlash over her cavalier dismissal of “Woke 1”—the era of…
Have American Catholics Given Up on Evangelizing?
Here’s a simple, biblical truth: We’re never as smart as we think we are, and we’re never…
The Truth About Truth API
Five years ago, the most powerful media companies in the world—Facebook and Twitter, as it was then…
