The loss of the Moon sends

the compass of my heart spinning; 

cast out from the only harbor known,

we flounder in the dark beneath the spray 

of salt and foam.

From abyssal depths He spawns Waves

who swallow us up like Leviathan of old—

oh, but what prayers remain?

Naked, naked!

Job, you old fool:

Meet me beneath the Sea

clothed in robes;

there we will greet Him.

We are tossed about like so much rubbish

in the grip of a current

as fierce as hope

and as hopeless as death.

Lungs bursting, 

drowning in spite

of all that we believe I am. 

Water encompasses all,

and as I drown, 

it penetrates—

the Lover’s embrace.

The womb of the Ocean

opens to a vast Unknown;

we become so much salt.