"The Birth of Venus"
The ripples of her hair stretch vast, circling the sphere. Sun rays in her azure eyes, welcoming. Her foamy fingers trace the sand line. She beckons.
Unable to be fully known, she cannot count her years. She speaks as a calming breeze and a terrifying roar. Tucked below her breast, life is found. She cannot count her children.
Her hair swirls in the rough wind, curls crashing. In waterspouts of anger, her passion can be seen. Vessels rock. When the silent black arrives, her white eyes reveal nothing of herself, only the lunar presence.
A balance of emotion, her calm expression and fierce reaction each have their days to reign. Whether a haven for visitors or marked with red flags, she intrigues audiences with her depth. Laid bare, yet mysterious.
Chained to the countless grains of sand, she dwells, immovable. She exists, pulled to and fro. Forever attached, only now sliding in between two loves. She, a rope, as the sand and the Horizon play tug of war.
Joined hand in hand with both sand and Horizon, she is torn. Where does her love take form? Within the grains that hold her weight? The delicate ivory sand has always swirled in the waves of her laughter, her words, her wind. The same sand has nested her children since their birth. Familiar, close to her, she has those dear, attainable grains. Beautiful to her, yet held in place just as she. Hand in hand she lies with sand.
Or does her heart swim in the light of the Horizon, entertaining her at day's break and in each coming night, from afar? Above her, able to reach the ends of her. Her cheeks flutter in her sea breeze. She blushes pink, orange, and yellow. Looking up at that soft, rigid line her salty lips curve; she is infatuated. Beautiful to her, free in a way she has never known. Hand in hand with Horizon.
In decision, her crest the salty brow, sweat rolling down, she chooses which hand to hold and to let go. As the black enters, she holds tight to the Entertainer's hand, sliding less and less to the forlorn shore.
Her heart disregarded, she remembers: she is immovable.
The sky dams her, separating her. Her waves cannot reach that high; she cannot touch only the Horizon. She aches for a newer comfort than that of the sand. The sky has damned her.
Her heart aching over that ethereal Glow, she continues to find rest in the sand and joy in the Horizon.
She speaks as a calming breeze, a terrifying roar. What will she say tonight? She lies still under the moon's glow. Only a faint weeping can be heard, her fingers tapping the shoreline. No shape to her body, she is defined by the hands she holds.
