Her bright eyes had no power
to see the world beneath her.
She kicked the dock as seagulls screamed,
as winds tore her cheeks.
Her cry raced to the depths,
as her hands became raw with splinters,
her pain echoing in ears below.

A mist whispered of something more,
A splash from that place told of hope,
But she only shivered at its warmth.
If only she could catch the colour, movement, shape that flowed,
the curving rush that carried blood away,
where the currents cross and redeem.
But her eyes saw nothing.

Little by little, her golden turned to faded grey,
her smooth became crumpled and wrinkled.
She was slipping.
Her fingers gripped the unfaithful wood.
Her hands shook, her heart trembled.
She dropped into the vast, unending ocean
and she saw.