His ocean is filled and insecure with splashes
On the roof.
Thoughts are soaked. Heart is drenched, weighted
Down to the bottom
Of his sea,
Of his ocean,
All the ships are sank and a rowboat remains,
Resting at the embankment.
The river is good.
It is alive and pulsating
With a chance.
And the river is filling up because
Does not stop. It continues, forever.
He runs to the boat.