Sunday, January 13, 2008

The Drowning Man

in the instants before drowning,
all life becomes as watery as this moment:
thoughts, relics, recollections,
all these swim before the dimly-sighted
eyes as so many tropical fish,
never quite graspable to him whose movements
are dampened and made heavy;
events and peoples float, above or below, nearer
or farther (it does not matter and remains unseen),
losing their weight and becoming
isolated strands of driftwood whose
roots have never yet been known—
here a thunder, there a candle;
a kiss, Thanksgiving.
but it is rarer still, as the sea knows only, for
one to be filled with such life-nurturing lucidity
and even live to tell it.

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