The disappearing boat

The pictures in this gallery
are self-selected;
the air conditioned
by the offshore breeze.

You draw a line
straight across the picture,
call it the horizon.
The space below,
above the arcing pebbled shore,
you colour blue.

On it, triangular,
a small white sail
drifts diagonally up.

The movement is so slow
you measure it at intervals
only filled by flights
of gulls, and oystercatchers,
meowing, squealing.

Now the triangle
is tightrope walking
along the sea and skyline.
It starts to sink,
still triangular,
but ever tinier.

And then it goes
over the edge of the world.

Now you have another picture,
the same one as before.
Breathless, you leave the gallery
and close the door.