His body floats on the surface,
Limbs spread wide and bound to the water,
An "X" marks his place on the planet.
Ankles and wrists between water and air,
He submits to a force of nature,
An "X", half submerged in the waves.
It says, "You are here",
but the ocean has more "there".
The water is a woman.
The sea is terrifying,
But he won't ever fear her.
A force of nature does nothing for spite,
Nothing for greed,
Nothing for personal gain.
His death would be clean.
Honest.
Absorbed, even, thoroughly, back to the source,
The waters from which we all came.
Whenever I have the chance to swim in the ocean, I am compelled, beyond my will, to swim out past the choppy stuff and float, limp and contemplative, upon the rise and fall of Earth's seawater. I clear my thoughts and drift. Invariably, though, thoughts arrive. Then this kind of **** happens. I wrote the start of this back when first exploring things that appear in "force of Nature", that submission to natural forces, free of judgment.
( read here by the author: )
https://soundcloud.com/warmphase/the-water-was-a-woman