He swims reds seas, drowning,

if he could; his lungs fill

but not enough, never enough,

to release him. See-thru green

islands wait, false idols,

skewed views, unreality, the only place

he survives.

 

Pebbles litter the shore,

he harbours them, protection from the light

and the dark, keeps

them close, guards them,

illusive saviours untying his knots,

not weighing him down,

stopping his flight so high

and burning upon re-entry.

 

The ground is hard

and unforgiving. He hits it

with dawn and dusk

and lays there

until he can swim

again.

 

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