11
Do not go and leave us lost and longing, in these mysterious depths.
How do you think and where is the river that we were once born of?
Woman, on the edge of humanity, how did your longing arrive here?
So can you tell me anything? Or must I always speak into the wind?
This could be risky, to dream by the ocean, in the home of the sirens.
To linger briefly, may be to depart, through the entry point of beauty,
to sink with the tides, to be free and unworldly, to sing the sad songs,
until they turn into joy. So when would one know they were drowning?
So can you tell me anything? Or must I always speak into the wind?
Is this secret connection about unbecoming and obliteration?
Is this a beginning from which we must lose each other again?
If we give up our light, will we dissolve into an uncaring sea?
Will each be lost forever, without consciousness or memory?
I say, do not be afraid, my other soul, for I will not unlove you.
We sank from the wild winter swept storm, lashing the island coasts,
to warm moonlit currents beneath, where no raging gale has touched.
How this voyage has named itself, to somehow counter non-existence,
as if we are longing to be locked in, to silver eyes like a sailor's jewels
and curling emerald tails awash, and the starshine in your gentle splash.
If we are to be lost into this eternity, this dream of submergence,
this shelter of water, this sunken haven, this kingdom of thick kelp,
this castle of sediment, from where we can still see the sun like god,
as it shines above the surface, then even when drowning we will rise.
