That there are depths you cannot know
and you could sink forever,
the water below
opening only to other water,
unlit undertow,
movement, tighter
circling shapes surrounding you,
all unknown edge and bitter
hunger, tooth
or tentacle or fin, all black
approaching through the blue,
the clinching wrack
of struggle, the final giving up
to the pressure and the dark,
that patient grip,
panic burnt down to a dull
and thoughtless ache, the slip
into the pull
of nowhere, bearing no hate, no wrath,
holding nothing at all,
not even your breath.