a writer
fashions an anchor at the bottom of the ocean
buries it in sandy floor, beyond light or air
deep in darkness, deep in silence

a writer
makes each heavy link of the chain
she climbs, breathe held, weight of
water pressing against her lungs,
muscles straining for air. not yet not

a writer
rises through the layers, frigid, heavy
thickening with life, desperate with

a writer
gives up hope halfway through the
climb, but continues; grieves at
wasted dreams, but still climbs;
embraces despair, dies, is reborn,
fails, dreams again, grows old,
grows senile, grows young again.

until, impossibly, a writer
breaks the surface and builds
on the chain’s high end
a keel, a hull, a ship, a sail
a long string of flags.