Swept Away by the Undertow
There are difficult times when every thing pines
for the familiar pinch, that outgrown garment
like Tagore’s caged bird unsure where to perch in the sky
disoriented by freedom and longing for the safety of bars
rather shame-faced, maimed, handicapped than pretend
to outdistance a past that is unappeasable presence
days when hollows ache, and the desperate fiction
of the moment can hardly persuade body or mind
or rainy weekends, when the heart prefers to curl up
replaying old movies, soothed by the rich melancholy
and drowning, voluptuously, in womb-like reassurance
of a warm bath, or the water-world of memories, dreams
scornful of good advice, blessings, and flotation devices
unreasoning, unseeing, ears sealed for all the din within
only to remember, in sober hours, there is no stepping back
into the same river twice, or homecoming for the Homeless.
Underwater sculpture by Jason Taylor
Below, is some melancholic classical music you might find cathartic:
