Lazy Metaphysics

There was nothing maternal about the sea as I approached it with my premises, hoping that its churning movement was the image of a great collective mind. I waited while it brushed and writhed, asking for nothing outside of itself, unconcerned whether or not it was seen – and to my question, there was only the thunder of a mute conclusion.

Maybe the relentless lash and curl of movement had been the argument, and its throttled roar – had been consensus, because now the sea was salty fresh and quiet. If something had been decided, I couldn’t grasp it, as the clouds settled over the deadline of the horizon, looking like cathedrals of an ancient civilization – unfamiliar but vaguely sacrosanct.