Until the sound of waves alone
Nick Van Alstine, 1982-2010
There’s a shout from the water:
a man is struggling with the current,
his mouth fills as he goes under.
He clears the surface, spits out salt,
finds clean air, gasps it in,
shouts again.
He is drowning.
He knows it.
His voice leans out in all directions,
asks assistance from everything that hears.
Everything that hears measures compassion
and the weight of that current.
Everything loves that man.
Everything knows what he knows.
Everything reaches out a hand,
wants him to live:
there is a whole world of hands,
he might choose among them
or surrender to them all.
From every direction, reaching out
a reaching in: “Here!”
Sometimes he grasps with strength of the rescued,
his grasp is slick with brine;
sometimes his strength fails him.
Sometimes he knows the direction to dry land;
sometimes a wave takes him, and he forgets.
Darkness is expanding;
courage retreats with the light;
how will he survive another night?
His voice grows small with his courage,
shouts are infrequent:
his features begin to disappear:
nothing now can trace him in the dusk.
Until the sound of waves alone
Make the shore an empty place
Everyone drops their hands
And bows their heads
He is gone.
West Newbury, MA