DRIFTING

To turn the hull around,
to work the wheel against the way
the waves always cycle
is the only choice to make.
The only soothing sail I set
my sights on relies on
my powers of persuasion.
To no longer feed the needs I
breathe upon,
from no lightness of your care
I stay afloat,
a bright-faced buoy, a barnacle on stranded
sandbar somewhere,
bobbing in the same way
as if customary.
Waters rise and falter,
currents propel and lull,
the depths of the ocean known
only by ones who sink completely.
And yet I'm adrift,
ignorant of reassuring shore,
unnerved by nibbles and dartings
I sense beneath me.