On clear days in Kula, over the grassy ridge, <br />past the kiawe tree and a cloud-rippled headland, <br />we see the horizon where sky meets sea, <br /> <br />where light touches the dark blue, <br />where sea and sky come together <br />in a line that marks the edge of the world. <br /> <br />As a boy, I was told sea and sky never meet, <br />the horizon is an illusion of our vision <br />and the land where we stand, <br /> <br />that there are miles of emptiness and clouds <br />between two intimate, familiar hues, <br />yet now I see there is no separation. <br /> <br />The sky starts where the sea starts, <br />face to face, skin to skin. In the surf, <br />the sky curls within the arch of the rising wave, <br /> <br />wind sculpting wave, sea weaving sky <br />in a constant curl, each around the other, <br />on the long, luxuriant rush to shore. <br /> <br />Many are mistaken about the horizon, too. <br />The blue line bends too slightly to reveal <br />the round, yet when we seek the horizon, <br /> <br />the gentle arc through every land and sea <br />leads us home. From here, our horizon <br />is a blue curve in a world that encircles us all.<br /><br />Eric Paul Shaffer<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-blue-curve/
