Sometimes A Poem Surfaces From A Darker Place

What We Shared

waiting for the dark water to rise

as it does every night, uncontrolled

in dream, rises

over the prow

of the boat where we sit

I ask if you see the great beast

swimming through the muck

you say you know it is there

waiting for the breech as if for birth

from water into air

waiting for the hidden to become visible

and knowing that it never will.

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