A raging sun cooks,
from above,
your naked, young back
as you crawl across
this skillet-floor
that blisters your
baby-belly skin.
You
can do
this.
In the stomach of this ocean
your lungs are older now;
they are balloons
that move up through
this blue cocoon of water.
You front crawl faster
as your tight
muscles race toward
the blurry lens of light
that draws you to its warmth.
You break the surface-crust,
and the gasp you take in
sounds like a rusty,
loud door hinge.
Breathe.
From behind you is a rushing,
radio-static growl;
this tidal wave is about
to crash like cars and crush you.
You
can do
this.
I believe in you.