RANCOR
But rancor is what I hold most dear.
The sea-salt mist ran up and down the
coast, and by the water's edge the terns
kept running. Bright blue light, like Heaven's
very own, splayed frothy o'er the flying water.
We touched the sky in one reach and kept going.
Out, in the distance, the horizon seemed only to
hold some far-off and bobbing ships - tankers
and freighters bound for far shores. Like a forgotten
mountain on the edge of a Chinese sea, I'd painted
something broad and wide on the inside of my mind.
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