My bench rests before a chasm,
purples and violets swirl into black
seeping oil constrained by edges
that stretch to horizons,
and I feel so small.

My hands and feet, metallic,
magnetic, locked to frame
while heart beats unsteadily,
that oil, rising and falling
like the body of a whale.

Behind;
a village, small beside
the vastness of this broken land,
colour spills from windows
while music plays on mute.

I must turn away, must divert
this steely gaze locked
upon these slick rainbows
that twirl and groove as oil
pulsates in cooing welcomes.