The distant sea will darken and turn to black. Makeshift Arks of toothpicks and orchid stems will sink like broken toys on the lake. God is within a strip of light under your door, a foreign voice, a balm to them.
Music lives in our names, and she can soothe you with a grace older than Moses, she knows what lives in you, in place of you, the genesis, and ending, the pallid hue of illness and sadness, loss, and eternal grief, love and heartbreak. She bathes you with pristine island water, Arabian scented soap, a smooth kiss of lavender and yellow cherries for your newly opened heart, she whispers sweet things like a Goddess you have always dreamt of.
The rushing sound of water is like the Almighty's voice, thunderous and powerful, the short, fat cherubim kneel and giggle like naughty schoolchildren awaiting the tidal wave.
Angels of light, and angels of dark, they will sail on the water with no boats, leaving blissful chem trails and perfect spirals, complex fractals and strange pirouettes that look like a dance in the floating clouds, the ethereal pirates at play on the open water.
She can heal you, comfort you, love you. Surrounded by oceans and violent waves that look like her eyes. Cities underwater, a metropolis of rivers and floating cars, great mountains and the melting snow. She is sweet, and her hair smells like waterfalls in the Spring, a secret kiss you've always wanted.
A wooden plank of a great ship will float like a coffin, the gospel etched into it. Observe unmoved like ancient statues in the swelling water, slick, cold, and gray to the touch, you will not drown, you will see white feathers on the surface, their looming shadows will mesmerize the sharks, there will be an explosion of fish from unknown cannons, a colorful delight, and flowers underwater, the breath in you is not yours.