I didn’t drown today, though the water rose

to my neck, and I thought I would.

It took years of salt-filled lungs

and burning, reddened eyes to understand:

if I want to live hard enough, I will live.

My head will stay above, my limbs will feel

not like bags of concrete, but light—

like a newborn bird’s wings. The sun

will lay its warmth on my skin,

golden honey, sweet to taste. I will

float—I will breathe. And I will know

all things, even God—somewhere in

his great grand hiding place.

I won’t try to find him,

and he won’t try to find me.