By Steven Lee Hann
I haven't the legs to weather the tide,
even a simple dip of my toe and I'm cast down the stream.
If I was wiser I would stay on land,
built and sprung from the foam like Aphrodite,
the waves call me.
Into the ocean I go,
submerged and at one within its polluted claggy muck.
I've saved a few,
swimming to the depths of their gray matter,
through the weeds of their tangled regrets,
to the dead laid bed of their lost hopes.
Pulling and guiding them back to the heat of light,
the cleanser of fresh air,
and the pillow soft calm of the arms of home.
They'll turn to find me,
but my feet can't have soil underneath them for too long,
there's no rope strong enough to tether me for too long,
and if the happiness is too long,
The crash is prolonged.
A child of the traumatic rising of poseidon's territory,
I will always return,
comfortably numb under the blanket of my mind.