Drifting I

There is rain against the window.

I am watching through the glass

a life I left behind

years ago.

The further I drift

the smaller the world looks

and soon there will only be the white room.

I fear the white room.

I would rather choose the soil.

I cannot hold on to the world

and the world will not hold on to me;

There are no arms to hold me here

so I am drifting further every day.

Sometimes I want nothing

and sometimes I want everything

and when I watch the dark grey waves

I feel them grow and fall and pull me

out to sea.