Pits of mist that steal his wits,
Warring worlds that churn beyond.
Fingers reach, but merely linger—
Too deep he sinks within the pond.
Reaching out to grasp and hold
A branch of brown, decayed with mold.
It twists and lifts—he stays adrift,
Straining, groaning, fighting cold.
A land of sand surrounds the man.
He tries, he cries, the waters rise—
His neck, his mouth, his nose, his eyes.
His gr...
