Dream Tatters

The windsock stands stiff in the wind,
Agitated from sleep by the gale’s disturbance,
The salt infused tarp jerks in resistance
and holds mightily against its resolve.
While above, the one eye in the dark sky
illuminates the thick, rolling clouds
blinking quick strips of light through its blackness.
I glimpse the windsock
only to lose it again in the bobbing of my head
as I gasp for the air it so loathes.
The clashing waves of cold water
flash a spider web of liquid light,
A dimming of ship lights leaving,
followed by depths of silence,
Then hope bursts again,
in the thrashing of my limbs
until I can thrash no more.
I accept the stillness of silence,
Its peace comforts me as my feet
seek the firm ground of finality.