Desire Like A Day Waiting To Break

I look down into the water. Were you ever eight? Stuffed full of words, of mourning and orders; all you can do is swim in darkness; desire like a day waiting to break. My dead sisters live at the bottom of the sea. In the past, the done. The teacher calls this the “preterit tense”. My mother says, "Stop swimming boy. There’s nothing there but liquid”. My toes grip the edge. Cling to the border. Everyday, a line bisects here from elsewhere. Light cracks the horizon. A necessary dawn; pink on the tip of my tongue. Heart pumps. Arms spread. Muscles tense, shoulder to finger. I wonder if I reach them, I can drag them to land. Swim my sisters back to the beat of life.