I wonder to what extent the depths of the sky mirror the depths of the ocean but it is beyond my imagination to percieve it. It's more easy for me to sense the ocean's heft, the power of its mass and the thickness of liquid, a body outsizing my own by infinite measures.
At Coney Island on Sunday what I hoped were dolphins turned out to be swimmers swimming laps far out in the sea, hearts pumping in the cold cradle waves. A man with a bandaged right hand ran by my friend and I as we drummed. Two dressed up in knife sharp 50s fashions tried to get our attention but we just kept drumming. A woman who grew up in Coney Island and was visiting for the first time in decades kept going on about how disgusting it was there on the beach. Where she lives, there are cows, llamas, buffalo, she said. My friend was very kind to her but I balked inside at the assertions of her speech, still convinced beauty is in the eye of the beholder.