Deep, deep inland now, and the vessel - previously so ominous, seemingly omnipotent - now sits beached, bleached, abandoned.
Bones lie in a long-dry riverbed; the truth is laid bare.
Not landing craft for invasion, but an ark that once carried the promise of new life contained a surfeit of riches in its hold.
What happened to those riches? Consumed, internalized, normalized?
What fate awaits an idol stripped of meaning, besides a covenant of crows?
And what of this man - has he stumbled here unwittingly, happening upon the denuded carcass by chance? Or was it by design, with a mind to design his own ark, based on its design? Does his briefcase contain a blueprint for restoration or the instruments to instigate the autopsy of a dream?