He carves words he has spoken
Of promises unbroken
whispering into the dark
Chiselling delicately into her bones
With tobacco juice to bring out the tones
Quietly engraving symbols and psalms
Living for the night
Working through to the light
Communing only through dreams
In daylight she's secure
Inside a white Alder tree
Protected and respected
Her spirit flies free

I had been treading water
just fine
the way I usually do--
kick out, then bend
keeping a steady rhythm and pace--
then all of a sudden,
I am once again overwhelmed
by waves of anxiety
and anger,
a current of isolation
so strong
it knocks my head underwater,
a tide of insecurity
floods itself in my lungs,
and an ocean of being left behind
beckons for me to come down;
to sink to the bottom,
as a side effect of being conditioned
for so many years,
that I am a person
who can't swim properly
to even save a life
despite all these years growing up
treading water.