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Vessel by Ian McBryde
"In our weariness, tears cannot find their way out of us"
- Andy Jackson
I am flesh wrapped around unwept tears, I am
salt water, brim-filled. No weary gulls any longer
land on me to rest, even briefly. This reservoir
has no outlet, no closing shore. An eternal twilight
greys the waves, awaiting the hush and solace
of nights that will never arrive. Bottomless, without
fish, the reservoir patiently awaits a current,
a cleansing tide, anything that can move its thick
and sluggish depth. The echo of invisible bells
ripple this surface, doubling themselves as they
sound out horizons that simply are not there.
There is no raft, no boat, no trusted rope.
And so I walk the dry world, liquid-skinned,
drowning in slow motion, just here, inside myself.
copyright © Ian McBryde
