— Inspired by "What the Living Do" by Marie Howe
the ocean is rife with forgotten shipwrecks,
their rusted blood drained long ago;
their metallic carcasses clutter the seabed,
these dead machines, now odd homes
for creatures far below.
the sun remains on the surface, laughing,
dancing in strands until music fades.
navigation by stars
can only be done on clear nights;
when fog rolls in, we drift indecisively,
refusing to admit when we're lost.
we perish from the inside out,
our memories now apparitions
we cannot seem to recognize.
we will not make new discoveries
when we continually avert our eyes.
truth cannot be avoided -
it can only be denied.
your blue arms reach for me
as I gasp, each slow stroke an effort,
knowing the world is an unattainable curve -
my footprints fade as I pass,
sand swirling in my wake,
erasing existence,
gathering alms.
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