Without the faintest stir of current, silently, yet in a single passing breath, the tide sweeps in. Before awareness wakes, the waves take hold. The harder the struggle, the deeper the sea steals within; salt's bright sting soon falls into quiet numbness. Upon the tender boundary between life and death, a quiet yielding begins. Each sense, for the first and last of times, shines with sudden clarity. That life has been. Its warmth, its pulse, felt through every trembling thread. Resistance loosens. The body drifts with the waves, keeping to their patient rhythm. Within the moving current, slowly, breath returns, relearns. In the boundlessly blue, shadowed, deep and grand, the will to endure remains. Though the cold sea water numbs all the senses, the warmth guarded in the heart glows outward, offering its quiet light to the water. The shadow of hope held tight in the palm shines bright in despair. Hope calls for hope; hand finds hand, and gradually they rise to the light above. Destruction and creation move as one. Joined hands become a great band, a current embracing every wave.