The Horizon

The Horizon,
The division between sky and land,

My eyelids,
The division between inner and outter worlds,

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 themselves,

Sometimes, on the beach, if you look at 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 tears sputter out from the space between upper and lower eyelid,
Trickling toward my lips,

And, at that moment, I imagine I am tasting the sea and the sun, and everything feels alright again.

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