Surrender

Ascher is sprightly, kicking

sand, ocean and moonlight .

The weeds washed

back to sea. It’s the scene he,

Celeste and I were robbed

of that afternoon.

I’m glad his mother dragged me out again, soaking

black water and moon shards, huffing

warm salt and picking

granules from the hard

basil lemonade gone

tepid.

I wade in until I’m deaf

of my family,

the blink of the wash house behind

me, the quilt of lunar and liquid

in front.

Still standing, knowing

the world wouldn’t see me die.

My reason for coming

back is why Celeste goes out,

courting any death disguised as a thrill.

I’m calm until she disappears

but rationally respond.

She wouldn’t wade too far.

I’m not afraid.

I can do nothing.

“Mortal,” she says, upon return.

That’s how she felt between Aransas Pass

and the abyss.

We walk with Ascher and I

think I understand now.

Life will always be a series of quiet

panics and respites, made

worthy through trials and exaltations

We can only plant

our feet, breath deep and

hold.

I never told her so.

Whether for better or worse,

I’ll never know.