kayaking

the saline drips down the cold shaft
between my fingers
i glide over the
purple/green/flame-stricken
glass.
the ripples that could be waves
slap my hull in punishment
that is meant for me
i wish i could take it directly
instead of through the industrial plastic
but even the truth can sound like a lie
so i glide on,
into the fire of rising Helios
and i dont smile
because i wont need to
when i get There