Going Under
Rain outside.
Breath, a steady tide
beneath a red woolen sea.
I am towed below
each exhale an ocean/
sigh over sand:
Ah—hush, you breathe/say, stay
your reading/writing, slide
into the nether
world of surf. Explore
the depths of sleep, strange
reef of dreaming.
Three in the morning
is coral: touch it
and it cuts.
--Ronda Broatch
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