I swim, especially late afternoon
when light changes position
so quickly, it’s like it’s
paddling beside me.
My arms, lungs, feet,
contrive to be the extent of me.
Give me a sense of partial weightlessness
and I’ll take it.
I can be that light
skimming the surface.
I can be the sound of splash and breath,
without the drag of bone and muscle.
I’m leaves floating,
wood-ducks nibbling,
shadows lengthening.
The sun marks off another day
leaves me steady in dark waters,
timeless on this watery platform
for having missed the train of night.

© 2005 by John Grey. All rights reserved.