When, was the ocean not or the moon? the wind that circles here and upon which our deep memories glide. Ridges rise up from the sea, seem to float as they gather mist at dusk, at dawn. Their roots hidden from view. We, fantasize of some mythic origin and mythic beasts that exist only in memory. Shift my gaze-- when was the sky not or the horizon line that bisects above and below yet deeper than I see. Yes, when was that not, when was I not.