He waited, and waited,
clinging to a slender branch
that swung this way and that in the torrents,
rooted only by the chance
that it was stuck between two rocks.
He was able to swim,
but chose the branch,
letting the waves lash his body and his spirit
until the moment of final exhale
when he looked back in sorrow –
life was in the flow of the waves
but now there were none,
just a thin stream of mourners
for who could have been
a champion swimmer.
© 2012 Marlon de Souza. All rights reserved.