If oceans of shark and fin,
Torn rigging and splintered prow,
Should suddenly widen, sea pour everywhere –
If the hairbreadth crack in the side of all that’s real
Should swamp the cosy world of the here and now,
Watcher, high and dry on the gallery floor,
Would you simply stare?
What if the canvas tears?
The breakneck tide
Come tumbling out from the frame,
And fathoms of gales,
Would you hear the screech of whales
As your eyes roll back and your dry mouth fills with brine?