We can swim here—
only fish and shells
to glide with, a full
alternate below-world.
A single language
where breath and tears
are invisible, muted darkness
making us all blind.
There is no infection,
just the industry
of movement.
The sea is borderless,
the safest place, the place
searched for, surged toward
where all walls fall
under the surface.
Click here to read Sarah Dickenson Snyder on the origin of the poem.
Image: “1706” by Franco Vannini, licensed under CC 2.0.
Sarah Dickenson Snyder has written poetry since she knew there was a form of writing with conscious line breaks. She has three poetry collections: The Human Contract (2017), Notes from a Nomad (nominated for the Massachusetts Book Awards 2018), and With a Polaroid Camera (2019). Recently, poems have appeared in Rattle, The Sewanee Review, and RHINO. She has been a 30/30 poet for Tupelo Press, nominated for Best of Net in 2017, the Poetry Prize Winner of Art on the Trails 2020, and a Finalist for Iron Horse National Poetry Month Award. She lives in the hills of Vermont. sarahdickensonsnyder.com
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