From my planetary arrival, I could see the lingering blue stretch from dawn to sunset.
The Pacific, point A to point B, I always know the steady reliability of a straight line.
The bay of Naples, a limited view, so I climb, shale biting holes in my shoes, to see from Mt. Vesuvius.
London, trapped in fog and no avocados to remind me there is more than Buckingham Palace.
Always the lure of the line except for dust dry Kansas and weariness of windswept prairie.
Trapped by Rocky Mountains, no bodies of water, I never did see a vertical mile high.
Now, a lake and a bay and so many islands ensure me the horizon still exists.