Water
One day water looks like death
Inviting the concentrated minute
But my hair has spun too wild
In the winds ever to be still again
Clothed (I am always clothed)
To inch under the appearance
Of what looks placid and blue
The cold shock and the slowing
Descent is not as painful as
The first rude intake of water
Mother I thought she'd forgive
My father come to rescue me
And memory would be stored safe
Trees just swaying (time is staying)
Before I was not drawn to water.
© 2012 Rob Schackne
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