Moon on the river

The dark river takes me
water of power moving
sluggish, slow, inexorable
pulls me under, birls
my body, spits me up,
tugs my ankles and hands -
I choke and gasp
I can feel my lungs
silting up
from the bottom with mud
making my breathing slow, laboured.

The water looks black
like wet slate
but it is soft as it
takes me down:  no waves
here, just the tug and turn
of large hands
that hold you down.

It won't last long
the jagged pain
when there is no breath
and my being fills with
liquid liquid liquid
and the light of a dark moon.

previous poem

next poem