Just going to slip underwater
and listen for a second
to strong muffled echoes
of distant shouting,
sharp snap of stones
smacked together
by children in shallow water
near shore, delighted
to discover how crisp
such things
may sound when taken out of
this world into another.
I wonder how crisp I sound
as I take myself
from that world to this one.
I like it here. I think I’ll stay,
even though I’m still holding
so much, so many words
tightly inside me, wrapped in
quickening, instinctual panic
at how natural it feels
to not be breathing, to be down here
instead of above water shouting
and struggling and splashing about
as I was just a few minutes ago.
When sooner or later
I do surrender, exhale,
and sink away from all this
I’ll say and be at last
what I’ve wanted to say and be,
and will understand
how I was supposed to sound
all along: strong and echoing,
each word informed finally
by my trust that even if there
is no salvation to be had by doing so,
I will have let it all go
as I should have done long before.