the sea splits its trousers

 the sea splits its trousers

the sea splits its trousers

a rip as long as the long curves

tear back along the white repair

sitting just there on the flotsam line

with a wet behind and feet drawn up

on the jagged rocks black there

standing on a feather and the broken shells

walking backward along the bladder wrack

popping the questions can you see it

the magic fish the red crab on the horizon

of my return in jest upon a white horse

charging no fee to gallop along

into the sunset of a red beaming

or the dawn of the such and such

of a surreal realisation