The shadow of time stood upon a broken wooden deck jutting outward into a dark ocean of water.
It stood alone.
The tail of its black coat blowing and tethered like a tail.
A wide- brimmed hat tilted low, shielding a ghost-pale face from a brine-infused wind.
It stands.
Moves — almost human — breathing salty air.
listening
as if the water speaks.
Its hat tips, levitates. Rain dances on it’s black leather brim.
A gale erupts.
Waves lap at themselves.
And from the thin figure’s shrouded frame, a pale hand emerges —
places the hat upon a sea of dark hair.
Time living in a world that never falters…
never bends…
never asks…
The shadow disappears as the walls of water break over rocks beside the deck.
Its head raised, engulfed in the mist.
The skies clear and the shadows gone.
Has he gone over the edge?
… or was he ever there?
