Between Shore and Sure

I’m drowning.
My tears well up inside,
my lungs fill to overflowing,
and I can hardly breathe.
I swim and swim
and cannot find the shore…
or is that sure.

I am heavy with feeling.
My chest tightens and tightens,
each breath slips away,
and I can hardly hold on.
I reach and reach
and cannot find a line…
or is that a sign.

The tide rises within me.
It pulls without mercy,
no reason I can name for it,
and I can hardly stand.
I carry and carry
what I cannot set down…
or is that my crown.

I swim and swim.
My arms ache beneath me,
the distance stretches endlessly,
and I can hardly see.
I search and search
for a light in the dark…
or is that a spark.

The waves speak in silence.
They ask and ask how long,
how long will I keep moving,
and I can hardly know.
I remember and remember,
there was once solid ground…
or is that not found.

But something beats beneath it.
A rhythm that is not mine,
a steady, stubborn pulse,
and I can hardly deny.
It says and it says:
you are still here…
you are still here.

And maybe that is enough.
Not rescue, not certainty,
just one breath and then the  next,
and I can hardly fail.
I rise and I rise
just enough to remain…
or is that the same.