Recounting

Uncannily sanguine, 
wounded by biting gnats― 
you return home. 

You would call the 
family for a final― 
drink and 
drown the moon. 

You have come very 
far from the inviting 
shores in deep sea― 

to be sucked into the 
whirlpool of silence― 
to end the sounds. 

You will not put the 
bread upside down. Who 
will provide the priceless again? 

A small saga of unheard renegade?