it must have felt like drowning
for years
a failing oxygen tank
in a sea too turbulent
to find a foot-hold.
i thought not of myself
in the heat of July
where stained glass windows
held in heavy heat
and heavy hearts and
heavy tears that fell hard,
that soaked shirt sleeves.
that did feel like drowning,
but I could still see land.
and now when I stand on dry land,
i think not of myself.
