The Pressure of the Sea

I cut the backpack straps.
The trail uphill is somehow level.
Eleven's gone before I check the clock.

I used to close my eyes at night
To block away the ceiling,
Thinking over and again
I have to work tomorrow.

I flung it down
And shoved
And let it tumble to the bottom.

Love arrives and love sets sail.
I always swim above the drowning sea
And open arms so wide on shore
Defiant,
Summoning a buoyant hope
As if my world was never underneath.

I close the door
And walk to work,
A whipping boy and dead-set fool.
The chilly air
Unfolds the warmest tongue.

- 3/11/25

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