Sinker

Fathoms down, the pressure
and the light are alien
to you and me and ghosts,
a fade to intergalactic indigo


Breathing is no longer possible
Live while you can on the scraps,
Oxygen desaturating, starry eyed,
hands desperate to swim

But they can't, they won't,
not until fingers unclench
from around the leaden sphere
they have carried for years

The singularity in the hands
may have once been a comfort
but now is the diver's weights
on you who wish to fly

The sky is up there, waiting,
through a sheen of blue quicksilver
Just free the past from your hands,
break the surface and breathe