Forgotten Ground Regained

Immersion

After T. S. Eliot
Yes—
We’ve lingered in the chambers of this sea-slag-crusted wreckage—derelict, depth-raked, decrepit.We grasp up past forgetfulness—hardening like a habit— for perfect sun-furnished surfaces, flapped over distantly
by seagulls. Wreathed with seaweed, red and brownlike clotted blood, we’ve sunk deeper into ourselves.The tide cringes back from us. The moon halves its heft. Our unwinding dreams drift and drag us down
until human voices wake us. And we drown,gasping and ghastly. And we drown, swamped in our clothes.And we drown, grasping helpless hands. But all this time life grows up soundlessly in us—deep, undisturbed, down
below our brittleness, it brims to daylight—the upsurgeof something pure and urgent and eager to emerge.
First published in The Chained Muse. Reprinted in Forgotten Ground Regained: A Quarterly Journal of Alliterative Verse, New Series, Issue 6, Spring, 2025
Copyright © Jesse Keith Butler, 2024
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