Plato, On Madness

i. We had to know
there were objects
lurking
in the dark-water murk
outcroppings

and one would tear us
in two,

but we sailed
with the horizon on our shoulders

and a breath of salt.

ii. They found me,
lungs preserved
and tongue-twisted, with twinflowers
growing at the crash site;

I came to rest
on the island Atlantis,

amidst frozen ghosts
speaking in hieroglyph and tracing
star-maps in the carbon
of my skin.

iii. Just before the end
there were no cries,

only a whisper: