Confluence

Years ago
on my back in the sand,
Lips blue, salt-encrusted
Choking froth, seawater, bile
Eyes turned towards a grey plank of sky
Blind eyes, turned inward with
Blunt, straining force of breath,
Each moment becoming
Lighter,
My mind faintly tethered, hung
On the expanded rim of consciousness
Aware only
of the jagged, sudden song of air.

Unknowing, until much later,
Coughing in the sand,
That the man on his knees beside me,
The one who dragged me back,
Pounded on my chest, and shouted,
Was weeping into shaky hands—
The sound of his tears lost completely
Beyond the echoing pulse of waves,
The gathering storm,
And my own blood
Thundering in my ears
Like a raging surf.