Depression

Just by walking I waded in.
The risen moon hung to my left —
a cold medallion.
Just by wading I walked in deep,
for the waters closed over my head.

And I dwelt awhile in the deep
where I could breathe without help
and still resemble myself
though life descended towards a November
three in the morning swaying of kelp.

But I waded out as I waded in —
ever naive, I guess,
and surfaced into a eggshell day
of sun and wind, still not knowing why.
Such a pale, milky sun: At least I blinked.
 

Copyright 1999, Mike Dillon
 

Mike Dillon is publisher of the Queen Anne & Magnolia News, and Kirkland Courier newspapers. His poetry and haiku appear widely in the small press world. He lives in Indianola, Washington, with his wife and two children.