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.

Nathan Elias