Deep Water
Deep water,
cold in its stillness,
and the dark promises it holds,
left to my devices,
I look into the depths,
for days,
almost like a blanket,
made with wool,
from the sheep of the sea,
sheared by the waves,
I see a mirror that only exists,
If I look at it,
I remember not my name,
nor the name of my children,
If I had any children,
and why I might remember them,
somewhere in the water,
I do,
and never did,
and I mourn yet,
the happenings of the depths,
for if the depths are the only future,
I may have,
they are grieving,
for what my disturbing presence might bring.