His life reads the same backwards
and forwards. All the letters
fall into place. The single word
comes to him in a dream.
Now it can be named,
the vertiginous song of grief.
The rising and falling
ocean voice of breath.
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john mann poems 
This is a perfect Abyss poem. If it were too “pretty” it wouldn’t be perfect. It’s not what I would call pretty. The last line: did it give you trouble? I can’t quite get along with “Ocean” or “Breath.” “Tide” would suffice. “Ocean” without “Breath” would suffice. “breath of life” sounds too familiar. But, otherwise, “Magoo, you’ve done it again!!”
Thanks, Steve! The last line is word-ridden, a besetting sin wherein I become word-drunk at the very end of a poem.