The Horizon

The Horizon,
The division between sky and land,

My eyelids,
The division between inner and outter,

Are similar.

When the horizon grows dark, its golden eye rolls back into its hem,
When I go to sleep in bed, my auburn eyes roll back into their hems,

Sometimes, on the beach, if you study the horizon during sunsets
It seems, out of its eye, that an orange liquid pours,
Trickling skyward to the stars,

Sometimes, at home, if you spy on me after a day of useless work,
It seems, out the space between upper and lower eyelid, that tears flow,
Trickling downward to my lips,

And, at that moment, I imagine I am tasting the salt of the sea and the rays of the sun, And everything feels all right again.

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