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The Coast // Sam Mason


Two shots of oily black Fracture faded blue eyes Along silky threads of green and gray.

They trace the violence of the ocean, The bubble, and the build Of each desperate volley, And lead him down the slanted steps, Across the brittle, crystalline yard

To shrieking winds, and boiling waters.


And at the mark of a rumbling premonition His body contracts into a sprint And he vaults into the rising curtain of frozen salt.

Sheathed in a chrysalis of icy fractals, His vision is kaleidoscopic And his screams geometric as he falls. Plunging deeply, past jagged granite, The dense cold slows him And suspends him in a clouded haline twilight Where the cruel glow of wretched fish Reveal the shifting silhouettes of the ocean’s monsters.


Here is the place of transformation

Where the weight of the waters

Snap his molecules And compress his atoms

Into powdery bursts of frantic electrons.

Unwoven to be woven again With splintered threads of ice. Chlorine and sodium for carbon and sulfur

And smooth bone fortified in coarse stone.


Lashed and bound in bitter genetics, He floats to the surface, Silent and needled now with spears of light,

To return to the shore And live as the coast.



AUTHOR

Sam Mason is studying butterfly ecology in Virginia, but he’ll come home to New England soon

PAINTING

"At the IGA (Detail)" by Elissa Lincoln

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