10 of 30, 2015

Notes at 3 Bars

I wouldn't have to dive far 

for the world I expect 

to betray me. Twenty meters,

not even first down

after a holding call, and depth

would hug my mass, steal my

compass under a moonless sea.

Pick a way and hope it's up. 

Swim the rest of my life

or breathe in a temporary plane

of good guesses.