Maritime

Through branches and twigs, lights flicker and the cold dark halos of my breath glow. 

And fade. Everything does. Is it a reason, though, for my not inhaling? For my not moving? 

No, my feet march, careless, and crack leaves and snails as they go.

My body a knife through seven, numerous seas. 

Shedding waters and rendering the power of the waves useless. Surrendering, they depart and strike me back again when they come. 

Still I move, still the sand recedes and I go further.  

My white rags wave and the wind joins my other counterparts and then the lights flicker and fade and I fade: wave, salt, tear.