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  • The horizontal eyeball on the voyage, seaward.

    Asea, asail, to sea, the eye looks through the bench, and the bench can be a platform slat, a second blink, a way out of the openness.

    The bench can be a blind of wood, a peek to make with your one personal panorama. The bench can be a source of admiration, the work, simple, complete, done and done and done just exactly.

    The bench can be lonesome in the morning in that Atlantic Ocean chill, even in summertime.

    The shape of the bench, the shape of the rope behind the brown slats, the slats a stain of maroon and calls from the spoors of the gold doubloons and the sunk galleons.

    Here is your complete stage set.

    Here is your one-woman-show time.

    Here is all you need.

    On deck, you and a lookout post and all that ocean.

    The world is your prop, you are in play, and your eyes are stretching eight ways to the horizon, and the kingdom.

    (Photo by Susan, on the Stephan Batory)
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