Watered Down

I do not live there. How could I live in all that water with land floating trash forever. How could I ever think I am different forever? How could I live on land thinking of water? No land is forever. My life floating different. The sunken feeling that nobody is rushing to the rescue. It is me who is rescuing, who is organized into helping. I got the wrong version of Song Of Myself. Thought I had the right ISBN but no, that wasn't it. I try to understand to feel the long lines. They reach the raft. They dangle over the cliff where I wait warmed by swallows by bees. Some I can catch others are snapping and whipping in the breezes. I want them all but I only have myself, my two hands or so I am thinking, one washing the other off.