Spell (excerpt)

Editor,

Here are the lines my mind fathomed.
They are tar-dark. I wrote them on pages
Breathless and blank, as beneath water
Men's minds are blank but for needing
A next breath. Sir, turn
This page and the thick door opens
By growing thinner, ever thinner,
Until the last page turns and is turned
Into air. Don't knock. The ocean knocks
Ceaseless on my little craft, and I am
asking you, Will my craft hold? I send me
To you on paper-thin hull. Don't knock.
I'm in there. I breathe on one lung
For both lungs' air; my hand is wet
With knocking my knuckle to wave, and
Though the wave opens, I am never
Let in. I promised you the deep wave
's inner chamber, I'm sorry.

by Dan Beachy-Quick