Monday, January 29, 2007

passage to ephesus

impressionista, Bruna Marchiori

we crossed the strait in the middle of the night on the ferry. slipped out of sleep by the swaggering of heavy machine engines. we leaned against the railing, twisting our toes contently above all the frightened fish and boat rutters.

maybe we will become stars when we dye and be buried beneath the shivering black sky. or maybe when the boat has crossed we will find ourselves at some strange gate or different land all together. i have heard of passages such as these in cs lewis chronicles and hymnals. how wardrobes or death can form a bridge to some new dimension.

these are some of the things i would have told you then if i thought them quantative. complete. or satisfying. but silence seemed fitting. you and i and the great big boat and all our sleeping friends.


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