Waiting for a sea change

Frantic heartbeat.   
Panic as I haul hard for the surface, 
breathlessly conscious. Pillow, ceiling, floor.
Breathing slows.  

Rocks on the shore, lapping waves behind tired eyes.
Morning fog rolls in, from a green somnambulant sea.

Mist penetrates the warped frames 
of my poorly fitted windows and doors. Fingers, 
sharp as bone probing into a space enmeshed 
in a fug of briny certainties.. 

Again, the Kraken roars, hungry for the day to pass.
No bright arc-light guides my way. 
Masts vibrate, above my head, 
tension sings along the wires.
St Elmo’s fire ignites no spark in the day lit darkness.

Plunged deep 
into a sea of opaque perplexity
no stroke, I cannot swim.
Covers crest and break again as I drown,
a frame of ribs and stretched skin on a sea of blue.

Lethargy overcomes me, head beyond lifting
sheets become a shroud, I am waiting. 
Waiting for the mist to recede, 
waiting for a sea change.

    - Dave Kavanagh


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