Swaying vast on liquid plain, shifting seas and closing doors, a raft of pine my only hold as brine gives way to bottle-green, like spruce in rain, or midnight ice. A universe made flotsam by degrees of my loathing. The waves relax, become smooth, a quilt of glass over which I curse ancient blasphemies voiced by mothers and fathers of great courage that once sailed for unseen lands. People like prairie flowers, lively and precocious. I float among their memories, spirit lifted by spirits gone, in awe of losses endured, of friends never to be held again, struck silent by their empathy for my own grief to come, their understanding that nothing can be said to soften what grants equanimity in age. And yet, what does that matter when cast adrift, when in spite of love it is hard to be kind? Orange filters from a new and tireless sun and the clouds gather speed, chasing the dawn. Wind toes the shallows and kicks, the sky morphing pink and brazen like some gaping musculature spread on high. The heavens open and the seas coalesce wine-dark in the gale, giant swells repelling desire like servitors of trident whim as I hold fast over lengths though by chance or manacle of resentment who could say, honesty begets both. The storm seeks witness, thrashing as a creature wracked by proximity to feast of suffering man. My grip is at risk as the wind howls like inmates and I wonder what monsters inhabit these seas, yet all is concealed, leaving my heart to beat too loud in my ears, every measure serving reminder that one day it must stop. I tilt away from the yawning gyre and it vanishes, like a coin on a string. In the pursuant calm I name the clouds, the facts unchanged, alone as a nightingale tethered to himself and by himself on no branch but this, no destination for which to yearn or believe. What could a map do but chide on a sea within an ocean, a dream within a dream? I crawl to the edge of this dry buzzing haze, the water a tray, polished and perfect, close enough to kiss, but all I want is answer from infinity, not these pupils looking in, seeing out, ad infinitum. I linger to entreat that instigator supreme, its vitruvian mien, but even if it answers, what consolation of tragedy? To say there are reasons is not bottom but a stop in fear of questions sustained. Will this end as I live? Or will I expire, leaving it behind? Which do I want, and which do I deserve?
Whispers echo, chimes from long dark province, a lighted sea bright and vying, each breath a rhythm pondering orbits outside of sleep, at height of pleasure, holding sway on what might come. A galleon appears on the horizon, black and lacquered and gliding, a vessel shaped by spectral trade, by smiths and cutters, joiners and journeymen, crook and claw, talon and nail. A plume of smoke serves for wake as tack and jet sear the gloom, mainsail whipping, a crimson flag like death's own banner. On the breeze comes a sigh, beauty returned like birds of spring, corsairs in a line, worn and warm as temple stones, simple and wonderful. They flit and fan, playful as butterflies, each a song. The galleon banks and discord rings with each lift of its prow, surety marred like prospects in twilight, like decisions bled by past mistakes. It groans in fury, towering, crashing, wanting its due. With final flaunt it charges, sails drawn fast like skin too tight, a trial absent of evidence and conviction of experience. I urge conciliation but space and madness close the door, unheard over need, hurtling as down a mountain. The armada yields in the instant before sanctity undone, the great ship allowed into their midst where it churns and hacks, the gentle boats slipping without effort in grace-soaked weave, kittens toying with head of their pride. If given a choice between short life brimming, or one long and steeped in misery, which have I asked for? And if in contrast to the plan I see, what if brevity lingers? What wisdom then in tempered joy, a lid on vigor? The current sweeps me on as though by heeding such thoughts I have been taken seriously in turn, but vision falters, stalled in chains of cause and effect, my absorption turned impediment, a spotlight swung to dash the spell, the audience become aware. The scene flickers and fades and all is as before. Before hope's return, before connection. In my heart yet out of reach.
Sitting on pins, estranged from lover and illusion both, dread in place of thirst. What to do but rail against the myriad things, wish this world to sweet release? A shadow slides, blasphemed spawn no home in scale, a serpent train, a fable scorned, repulsion come. What match I to ancient ease where oceans whorl transparent green? Am I these fish, dumb of plans inviolate? Do all the answers fall about, obvious but not to me? Fast-dark clouds provoke hatred, anger, relief in waves, and then remorse, blood dripping like wax, red and slow. Tempting bait it meets the sea, the shadow’s rise.
The mass shatters and teems, a pinwheeling mottle discrepant with sire, the one become many to strike from all sides, like scissors through silk, or love's demise by thoughts unbidden. Each a regret come to face me again. Tiger-black hands grip the raft, jagged, sheen, simian clutches lifting host from below. They climb onto the deck, feral chimeras having flowered too soon, plagued by abscess, acrid and blank, rasping and jaundiced. Memory whispers and consequence cares not if I die on my feet or live on my knees. The creatures sniff the air and come, reavers unerring. I swing in seismic arcs, lives taken by score, but still their kindred swarm, nothing to lose but my escape. Hundreds fall and hundreds more, the storm a mirror of glory and fame, newfound strength in tales of the fallen. The downpour masks my gain, the willed ignorance of all that stands between us, a sacred agreement spun by pride. Lightning flashes to reveal bodies slicked by struggle, by flood of hostility, and in that picture my commitment rings cold, an inexorable gap between right and decision, a chasm filled by empathy's end. The creatures raise their heads as though hearing a voice, and like clutter of spiders flee each and at once. They merge in the sea, the circling quiet. No errantry left to ward such a fiend.
It breaks the surface, a mammoth hunter between color and sound, pigment and music. If I wondered what is feared beyond devil and depth this leviathan serves answer, soaring like waterfalls and crashing like ice, my raft destroyed. A fin cuts through the chaff and around me as though I am shrine for imaginings patient and close, a nocturne in wait. It is under me, then behind. What good instinct with this my predator? Every rash and negligent act a taunt unheard by fate? I steel myself for slice of teeth, the end of suffering, yet nothing comes, no glimpse of plot or design, just liquid wild and further than I dare dream. This ocean will claim me, each stitch soaked in promises made, a caress seeking vitality, an erosion to cool avarice, grinding my very spirit. If no one here gets out alive then how to con the ferryman? To not fear death is to die but once, yet, without means of escape, how to redress this burden of being, what star true north to transcendence? Beauty is faint restitution, the quest for awe my sole oar remaining, the next sunset or smile a reminder of what cannot be, these layered roads and paths paved over, the sea a garden of anemone, enlivened and reaching, soft in the current. I know their tongueless swell, those stalagmites of genocide, marching to a lich's drum. I struggle against the silence between words, the radiant gloom. To whom can I look for more time when the caretaker of my soul betrays innocence? And what if death is but more lives yet, each worse than the last, our best behind us and naught ahead but a web where every cry tightens its grip, where all we could have been is shown only in dying? How then to avoid regret? Must I live in parallel with some final understanding, tying every moment to that ideal? Questions weigh heavy as water fills my mouth and I cough and swallow more. I speak to the vastness inside for to say it aloud is the only defeat, an echo on walls dictating the same governing line, the elegant destroyer, that which says I do not want to die.
I cherish the sun, the waves, the seabirds at play, soaring high and diving, luster's change reeling them down. Far-flung clouds no match for this handful of sand, the gentle current, gratitude honed by slow crawling day. You move with sweet precision, my symbiote in repose on crest of life, the sea bright as nature rejoices in its creation, a staying call on early grave. You clasp my neck, the water turquoise and perfect, a chrysalis reflecting warmth, pupal layers ensconcing from harm. I touch your breast, the beading water, a soothing pet on liquid grace as we move together through the nectar found in shared experience, in love of each other. You lean in the flow, hair spread in vital wreath, and I bring you up to see your eyes, too beautiful to understand. How to divine this goddess, to know your perfection? You speak and set my heart at ease, “We went in with our rings on. Be careful not to lose them, we would have to search an ocean.” I smile, say, “I would search an ocean for you.” . . . “You’re the best.” . . . “Never, always you. You collapse the divide between me and the man I can be, the ten thousand things made to sing. The path to joy is being with you now, not a now naked of adoration but one that shines by our journey’s very depths and drivings. Your kiss takes everything that is sad from me, makes my skin comfortable, lets me be part of this world.” You squeeze my arms, cock your head and grin, “Just don't give me those bird eyes.” I widen them, hold them unblinking. You laugh and say, “Stop it, bird! And don’t you dare try to escape. I'll taxidermy you. You'll have bird eyes forever!” . . . “My heart's desire, how could I ever want to get away? In you I realize the happiness that defies, the splendor of my potential and all that is sacred, your voice the very echo of my soul.” You put your head on my shoulder, breathing slowly, the sinking sun bronzing your back, pebbled light imbuing with gold. You are proof the gulf can be breached, a master key to maze of secrets, an island of purity where longing melts to tender antidote, melancholy a memory, the whole I had hidden brought into focus. Do you feel this way? I hope so.
The moon is ablaze, the distant heavens a scentless limbo, reverence consumed yet animate still, a necromancy exposed, dead, heaving, abstracting us, the last living things in a fluid-filled space, accompanied by grudge and foreboding, the pools of home forever away. The sea sets schemes in motion and my every fiber fights the bottom, pushed and blunted by tendency, sight set firm, head dipping, above, below, above, and one last time I see the horizon, a vision of patina and green, white-capped and rising. Thought comes clear as meadow's call, this liquid now. To die awake, what greater accord with transience? What vote more urgent when ground one treads plans death by star? What is needed other than to be one's utmost, to glow and gleam? Loss is yours, a notion avoided by islands annexed from assent, yet here I yield, no longer counting the burden, no future found in grievance, a soul agreed with all that is. Ready now, slipping under. My love an ocean pouring in.
Falling leaf without a net, through seesaw leagues and solar winds, the spinning quiet. Bathed, distilled, a faint cascade, a comet kept in lighthouse deep, rolling soft down spiral stairs. A writhing mass arrayed below, the latticed floor of a sea where twilight sways with bedlam, limbs twisting like vines, like signal fires. I count one for every blessing but bring no tithe to make them whole. Where do they stop, and I begin? A shared predicament, our happiness tied to scope of endurance, to gentle hold and forgiveness, to hearts born anew. Let us pray that grief be outweighed by love, for wisdom in our darkest hours, and to know that even as we sow our destruction, we cannot be abandoned. I close my eyes and trauma fades, free of resentment, free to let impermanence ring. I wish to give this gift, to ignore the rules of pressure, but hands are on me now, their grip pearly and veined, a fever that says: love never dies. Timidity spreads in verdict's place, a sunset exit, an open scar. And yet, what bounty without risk? The tether loosed by drunken tears, warmth, then light, falling.
