Your lips salt-crusted, sealed silence
You get used to no one rescuing you
Nor were they even aware of your drownings
As you stood drenched before many
In the substance of survival - inner tears.
Healing salts dripped in to the lining of your born-soul
Purifying and strengthening it once again
Into whom you were meant to be when you
Exited in to your first light from the womb
You do not disregard the hard-gift that you
Re-surface with in each drowning, as
You look at faces of man, woman,
child, or creatures - And you see their deep
But stay detached, your disregard hardened.