I piloted that gleaming star
into the hissing sea
and search lights probed the inky depths
but could not rescue me.
I reached for something solid, grasped it tight
and whispered truths,
but it floated down the trench
to where my eyes no longer looked.
I couldn't hold my breath that long,
I tried to give my life,
but rose up to the top again
and then my death you took.
Alive and well I held you near,
but in my dreams I saw
the horror, chaos, maladies
I knew so well before.
Did I reach the 9th and do I now ascend?
Or the devil in ice himself did I mistakenly befriend?
Am I to dare to crawl on land?
Or should I wriggle back
to the sea in which my shining ship
was overcome crack by crack?
Beware the sun
says the moon out of spite
and I'm left to ask the stars
which of these lights is meant for me,
the bright glare or the gleam?
How far does agency extend,
and tell me, does it matter then
what I might choose or think myself
if all is writ in plan?
I hope, I hope, and still I'm pulled,
I know not whether to stand.
For now I lie wrought near in two
on the eternally wet sand.