Deep Water

Deep water, cold in its stillness, and the dark promises it holds, left to my devices, I look into the depths, for days, almost like a blanket, made with wool, from the sheep of the sea, sheared by the waves, I see a mirror that only exists, If I look at it, I remember not my name, nor the name of my children, If I had any children, and why I might remember them, somewhere in the water, I do, and never did, and I mourn yet, the happenings of the depths, for if the depths are the only future, I may have, they are grieving, for what my disturbing presence might bring.