As you swim, it glides beside you, seeming
to grow with each sweep of your arms, each leg
kick’s brief wake as your slick body, gleaming
in dawn light, slides through rough sea, your vestige
of flesh somehow one with harsh waves as you
alter from crawl to breaststroke, butterfly,
your limbs now fire, lungs and mouth start to spew
steam as you dive, corner of your right eye
sensing form swell—angelfish to dolphin
to blue whale as you drive deeper down, down,
buoyancy lurching to grab hold, drag thin
body back to air, now caught in hole-blown
swell lifting you, force a sudden surprise,
your limp frame warm in caress of its rise.
Roger Armbrust
August 30, 2008
