Adrift
I am adrift
but chose to leap from the ship,
not to gasp my last breath as
the air in the ship bellowed out
in large gusts of wind and mist
as water slid in torrential.
Yes, this was a choice: the drift,
listless edge of seascape, always caught
between screens of sky and sea,
sometimes pulled beneath by crescent claws
reaching upwards from the vague, opaque deep.
There is a peace we cannot know
past the liquid firmament
where food is carried on currents
and both awful and awesome can fly.
The ship just passed away
beneath the waves, her single mast succumbing
to the uninvited ballast taking up
the spaces I called home before.