Poetry

Drowning

Rod Moran

 (In memoriam, G.W.)

 

He waded shadows,

The compass of a night

Lacking stars and moon.

 

He yearned for the fathoms

Of pure nothingness,

The calm of oblivion.

 

Imperatives moved him, Magnetic as water,

Urgent as breath,

 

The flotsam of motive

Unfurling, coldly,

Tides of intention:

 

Gave up his store

Of secret pain,

Lucid as thought.

 

Gulls, debris, wind.

Complex hauntings,

The water gently luminous.