Asail

Tonight the church seems to have a separate existence, apart from the world or even Rome; to be more spiritual, more insubstantial than even the Trinita there. A ship asail in the Campagna, the only living thing in all that distance, and even then alive but so half-heartedly.

And that night, Stephen and I went back to my house here in Los Angeles, got drunk and decided that we would try one more time to get this ship asail.

Beautiful, the ocean at night, whether upon or just peering out at it. Beautiful, and teeming infinitely with life, even when there was no ship asail upon its cresting bosom—like now.