Compass Water.

a poem about gazing out to understand my inner waters.

About this photo - but also this moment.

There’s darkness now.
Despair even, in heavy grey sheets.
A storm may be closing in around the

Cerulean blue and iridescent white
who co-mingle
but do not overtake.

There are the bits of those who came before, rising up
through the surface, meeting us here, keeping time.
And those on their way out, dry yellow husks
shaking rhythms into
the cold air.

But perhaps most importantly,
there is the one
who still knows how to float -
who, with tannins in tact, curves upwards
toward the light, and sends ripples into the liminal
below.

This one is us.