I’ve held onto my raft for as long as I can remember
the water pitching me here and there
up and down the pointed waves.
I learned quickly to
balance all that occurred: to compensate
and my life was well
the nagging of my conscience
telling me that somewhere there was more.
But I liked my own space — I love to be alone in it.
I rocked back and forth.
Then, on the horizon, I saw an obstruction to the blue
of the sky
that turned and bobbed into another being on another
raft — and somewhat like the image I’d
conceived as myself
after reflection in the waters.
It came closer and my nagging urge,
my unsettling thought, gave me the curiousity to shout
Although the person acknowledged my presence and my having
with his unsettling staring eyes, he said nothing.
Our rafts came closer and closer until they collided.
A sharp piece of metal from mine
ruptured a hole in his
his terrified face showed that
that he was sinking.
I dived into the wet, dark, cold world of water
and held up his raft before
he had a chance to share the cold.
Thinking only, only about his contorted, terrified face.
Yes — that is important to me!
I am under here still,
holding up the raft
breathing only ideas of his safety,
as the regular intake and arching of
my gills circulate the life-giving water.