Ocean-Echo-550x734Anton Semenov

 When I was four

I threw myself

Into the ocean

A beryl wraith spinning

A foam parasol

How I loved her,

A haunted mother

Who did not detest me


Sorrow does not

Defeat her

And her heart as sterile

As a needle promises

A return to innocence

That aging can not master


Her voice more pervasive

Than those within

An effacing static

That silences all who enter

Like a poem

Cast into the fireplace

To prevent its secrets

From spilling out


I had no idea

What dying meant

How permanent,

How transparent,

How tragic in respect

To my fragility

I might have held

My breath as a watermark

In proximity to beauty

Necessary as vanity

Which never is


I was prostrate

Sliding sideways

Across the sea floor

When you swept me

Currents and all into

Your treasonous arms

I don’t remember

What became of me

Perhaps I never woke up


When I was 4 I saw the ocean for the first time it was so beautiful that I ran into the waves without thinking. The undertow grabbed me almost immediately and I couldn’t escape it. The curious thing is I was never truly scared, I felt like I belonged there.