Don't grieve for me, love.
I'm not drowning.
The ancient sandcastles
speckling the shore have crumbled,
grain by grain, desiccated from
seasons in the sun.
I've walked impacted corridors
with shells as cobblestones.
I know the tide has receded
lower ever than before.
Don't grieve for me, love.
I'm not drowning.
'Though the coral architecture
is weathered, bleached and barren.
The thrones sit vacant
hissing sighs like salty grit.
I've left the ghostly kingdoms
for the waterside, to sit.
Don't grieve for me, love.
I'm not drowning.
First a toe, then ankle's depth.
Then hands and hips and shoulders.
Before my eyes drop below the line
I see the sun's farewell.
Somewhere between the rising and falling,
my perspective lost its bearing
but the sun is softly sitting, shining out to me
as a beacon to the joining of two infinities.
Don't grieve for me, love.
I'm not drowning
in this darkened atmosphere
with filtered, softened rays above.
While there may be monsters somewhere,
they don't seem to bother me.
In this place I move around, almost invisibly.
Sometimes I hear a friendly song,
or see an outline pass nearby.
While I'm alone, it's never lonely
because this ocean is alive.
Don't grieve for me, love.
I'm not drowning.
I'm not even lost adrift.