BELOW THE WATERLINE.

When you scrape the late shift’s lost hours
You might be surprised by what you dredge up from
Deep down beneath the receding surface of an earlier tide,
Whose buoyancy bides its time.

There the surge is sturdier,
And urgent for your tired mind;
Desperate to bind it to thankless anchors
And plant you on its fluid bed,
Where no rest is possible,
And comprehension’s leaden sense is mentored
By primary colours
And simple contours,
And you bob along the bottom
Never once dotting I’s or crossing T’s,
Free to flounder
As it sees fit.

And when delved into at the behest
Of braver bathers determined to save you from
The sediments of selfishness you might find more than
What you thought trawled there;

Where purchase is worthier
Because of the determination needed
To purge settled footfalls of their stilted silt,
And getting a grip of your ship
Wrecked decks merits
More effort than forgetting how they were submerged,
Or who sunk them,
Or succumbed to drunkenly
Sailing into gentle tempests
That switched the minute they hit
And left you listing
This long.