Why not, as the wise men and the wise
Guys say. Why not return another day?
Body ached with the gorgeous embrace
Of the warming but still cold water touching
Every fingerprint, every follicle, every
Inch of skin as the hands like waterbirds
Dove headfirst into the small waves again
And again, pulling. Sometimes the rhyme
Is so rich the mind hallucinates, I was, really,
Here right here, in this moment, doing this
Just this many, many times before. All
Has been returned to me, all that was
Given has become forgiven, foreword to this
Which is what it was and never, really, went
Away. When a human, swimming or not,
Begins to opine on what is or isn't real,
Thought self, courtesy of body and mind,
Both still floating in the translucent green
Of what felt like a portal under the waves
Opening a view onto something like forever,
Be suspicious. The real itself was the best
Fiction the human collective ever presented
On surfacing with the distinction between
Is so and is not so clenched like a rusty nail
From the long-ago docks rotting under us.
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