Recounting

Uncannily sanguine,
wounded by biting gnats-
you return home.

You would call the
family for a final-
drink and
drown the moon.

You have come very
far from the inviting
shores in deep sea-

to be sucked into the
whirlpool of silence-
to end the sounds.

You will not put the
bread upside down. Who
will provide the priceless again?

A small saga of unheard renegade?