Come Up for Air

A raft can hold us, with uncertainty,


In the swamp that devours minds.


I don't know if I'm prepared


For the sticks and branches to break.


I don't want to swallow the horrid bog


Or be blinded by the cruel sludge


That will sink the twigs and our bodies.


Don't say we can't resurface—


We should always be able


To come up for air.