“Those pretty little stars,”
Their jagged tendrils blinding,
Etched patterns on the water writhing -
You can never see beside me,
Always will strain behind me.
I see all alone.

My spine warped from prostration
I will kneel, passive, before them.
I pray you won’t, callous, contour them -
You shouldn’t even try to look.
Their power straight through my soul shook
A hole.  “Steady the boat.”