The Vision of the Plants.
I sat down inside the ruined canvas. I poured the grogue—thick, sweet, burning with the ghost of old suns. As the liquid touched my lips, the jungle leaned in. The Vision of the Plants
Tonight, I drink to the Captain. And tomorrow, I let the vision grow. the jungle leaned in. Tonight
They call him still, though he abandoned his rank long ago. No ship. No crew. Just a compass that spins in circles and a hammock that has rotted to threads. The Vision of the Plants