Guidance

Even the gentlest current of wind leaves the sea parched; even the most delicate touch sets the stomach cramping. I walk through a swamp. At some point, I begin to float. You, who leave me breathless. You, who save me. Dry drowning and waves, breath, resurrection— I turn to look behind me. There, at my back, a railway line ends abruptly at a sheer cliff. Its watchmen stare me down, keeping an infinite distance. The milky fog has blinded me. Far away, through an antiquated telescope, a blue abyss lies in wait. And yet— yes, even so, today, your hand is unusually warm. The hand that will lead me into tomorrow.