The Womb of the Lake

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

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Terms

*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.