Flaring Atmosphere

An eye-straining speck lies helpless
on the ocean, like an upturned mirror
reflecting the sky's grim exhalations.
The grip of the waves never relents
and their tight intangible fingers shift
the anchor from one post to another.
The flaring atmosphere is unbreathable,
the airy noose strait enough to squeeze out stars.
The wrench is almost too great, flesh tearing
and the seductive promise of utter fragments.
Darkness spins madly, part obscured by
the dance of the inferno.