silence

the dying sun watches over his shadow

stretch across the sand

he turns back and sees that red boat capsized

slowly sinking in a sea of blood

with no sound tethered to it

just the thin whistle of the wind

and the occasional mew of buzzards circling overhead

his legs trudges on,

chasing his shadow the way a dog does his tail

all the while his skull echoes

what he reckons the scream from a god's mouth

should be