Drowning (II)

If the sand

could be swallowed

would that empty place within

find itself curving back into a solid

and home, that recedes in the light of day,

be finally re-found?

If the night,

that hollow we step within

and try to hide all the damage

we have done,

could be devoured and made to turn again
into light would we feel the sun run free

in the tired rivers of our veins?

And if my hand could hold the right pen,

if the ink ran into all the proper places

and the lines between remained balanced and sober,

would I finally find all the images and sounds

might fall still - the way a leaf

tumbles down to the floor

and creates a sea of silence for the many lives

of the creatures that burrow and scurry

beneath the ocean of trees?

Might I, finally finding my inside

had been turned out

and drowning then in the sight of what should be hidden,

be set free?