"Tides Turn"
Susurrus surrounds
in shadows where
I become an evanescent
fragment of who I used to be.
This shattered glass house
I once called home
now shards glinting
dangerous against stars
and I don’t know which
is sky or floor.
I let these tides
shift and glide and turn.
One cannot abscond
when these changes crack open
beneath a fragile abditory
and the pieces crumble
into the ocean below.
You only drown
until you choose between
a scintillating surface
or an ominous seabed.
The waves will call you to swim;
the bottom engulfs you in obscurity.
And perhaps you flail
when your head is below water.
The air to breath is above.
Keep moving.
Perhaps you learn that
grinding against the tides
pushes you back.
The metanoia begins
when you turn around
and embrace the hands who wish
to return you to calmer waters,
where you know for sure
the stars are overhead
and all that glass
on which you once bled
remains in the sand
your feet will never touch again
and the true tides turn
the moment your hands and knees
collapse to the shore,
and all you must do from there
is walk.
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