Stem the tide,
hold the gates a little longer,
I do not want to be taken at the flood,
my carcass,
swollen with tears and rain
will become a ship,
the fat canoe that once I sailed
adrift, abandoned by her crew,
a jolly little craft,
flecks of paint disguise the hulk beneath,
who will haul me in
some fisherman perhaps,
complete with tangled hook and waving line
claiming salvage rights on what was  me,
or will I wander, bobbing wild
through the marsh and onwards to the sea.