The young man Took his step-off Into the shrouded waters, His feet eager To cleave from the lake's pier. Slighted by rotten wood, His legs buckled, Sending splinters and moss into the air. A hegira* already misguided and breech, He surrendered himself To the choking and the sinking He waited for his prostate form To meet the cold and sunken floor Anticipating the grit of sand Between his teeth But he was instead greeted by another sun
*hegira– any flight or journey to a more desirable or congenial place.
From the Author
Audio is here! Thanks for waiting! I've been experimenting a lot lately, and this a little return-to-form to my usual free-form narrative verse. This is the kind of verse that often comes to me in the silence of night. This is a poem about failure, and the warm places you can only get to by accident.