A Drowning

Deep in the shallow trunk
of the esophagus,
an utterance emanates
with gutteral resonance.
Upon a bitter countenance
a bilabial gulley
washes up between two
driftwood logs, rising
with the lofty timbre
of a familiar name.

And you swim toward the shore,
each salty stroke one of luck,
that the waves asunder
up against the rocks
then drags back the undertow,
retracting nouns and vowels
into the the open maw of the sea.
Those bellows echo,
another breath to wind up,
another fellow to expire.