I let the wind-churned surface gently raise me up
And set me down again.
If I am travelling at all I am unaware of it
For I look around and seem to be
In the middle of the same sea as yesterday.
I swim in protest of sinking but every once in a while I go still
Just to let my head fall under for a bit.
The water in its mercy keeps me afloat,
But the winds pick up
And my ankles grow heavy.
The ocean floor looks so peaceful in my mind.

I let myself dream of an anchor
Guiding me to the creatures below.
They welcome me with their faint glow
But I am blind here, accustomed to the sun.
The salt tastes different.
My lips do not complain.
Already I feel a burning in my chest,
Still the anchor continues at a steady pace,
Further from the wind and the waves.
I fight to keep the little air I have left
And begin to wonder:
If I were to drown on the journey down
Would my body float
To the surface again?
Or would the depths claim me,
The anchor tightening its grip,
Ever sinking…
Ever sinking…
Ever sinking…
Ever…

The cry of a gull wakes me.
I come to and inhale the familiar taste of ocean air.
For a moment, the waves are still and I float in silence.
But I look around and seem to be
In the middle of the same sea as yesterday.
And soon the winds will pick up
And my ankles will grow heavy.
The ocean floor looks so peaceful in my mind.

- p. winter