At Such a Cost

I'll stay as long as I can stand
the weight of air, each gasp
pushing me down, lancing
my throat and lungs.

For his sake, for the dizzy
brush of lips, Iíll breathe
this nothing, feel my skin
shrivel to rind.

I crave, ask with my eyes.
He brings me a mirror,
combs for my dried-out hair
knotted like bladder-wrack.

He's coiled my fins and tail
into a hip-bath filled
with lake-water. Its sad taste
brings no news; it has no voice.

Sea-spray rills up under my ribs
but a stone blocks my throat.
When I ripple my arms,
nothing shoals or copies.

Alex Josephy

If you have any comments on this poem,  Alex Josephy  would be pleased to hear from you.