Short BMNR

There is an hour when light breaks on the sea,
A thin grey blade that cuts the world in two;
And in that hush, immersion comes to me,
A slow descent through cold and widening blue.
Not drowning—no—but yielding piece by piece,
The way a tower loses shape in rain;
How borrowed strength, once thought a fortress,
Falls inward when the tides return again.
For every dream built high on borrowed fire
Must answer to the winter of the deep;
Where weightless hopes, released from their desire,
Drift down to where the oldest shadows sleep.
Immersion is the truth that waits below:
What’s hollow breaks; what’s anchored learns to grow.

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