Learning to Drown

The lake, its muddy hands tighten

around my neck, wrestle the life out

of my flooded bed. A ghost, feeding
on lichen, I’ve become another

water-logged body, dancing in slow-motion

as the world glimmers with refracted light.

What have I left behind on the surface
where memory fishes my remains,

its hook a rusted minute-hand

ready to pull me from this blue dream?

The lake, its seaweed lips whisper
lullabies in a gurgling language

as sleep consumes my lungs.

Beneath this aquatic tomb I wait for air

to fill me and morning to emerge again.