This Is Called

realizing
you’re alone
and hateful

knowing
you’re past
expiration

seeking 
clothing that will not just fit
but reveal and cover at once

the reverse
of sparkling
and shiny

terrible divide
stanched flow
and rager caged within

returning to 
peace in the only place
it abides

having to leave peace behind
because of burrs
under the saddle

sad uncertain winging
of the unexpressed
over the green sea

plunging for it
as deep diving birds
plunge

forgetting 
you’re a man
and no bird

shock at the depth of the ocean
and how clearly you can see
what you sank there long ago

the man who drowns
in the distance between where he is
and where he should be

the damned at play
in the pool of no mercy
still too far from what’s sought

the man who drowns
thinking he ought to be elsewhere
but knowing he put himself here

the man who
the man who drowns 
the man who drowns himself

the man who drowns himself
to read his epitaph
hoping someone got it right

the man who reads his epitaph
and lies to himself saying
I don’t know that man