Swimming toward my intended
landfall; as its trees begin
to sink below the horizon,
veiled in xanthous blur;
I ponder Millay's fatigue.
Stalled on
empty breath,
I diffuse my arms and legs,
roll over for
a final
view of the sun, and tilt
my head back into
the water casket’s pillow.
Tinsel shards disperse
along the
surface, where I laze
and dream,
upheld by the expanse.
