WATERMARK

I float through my days on a soft cushion of medication.  I am in a big blow-up raft, high, and dry, and well away from deep water.  I focus on minutiae — the foam bubbles at the surface; reflections of sky and trees.  Softly up, softly down, the current carries me where it will.

At mid-night, startled from a dream, I open my eyes to the glare of the full moon.