Maybe it was better to consider resemblance
As not between any two things or even any
Two moments (which felt like discrete things,
Misleadingly, when so named) but as rhythms
Within change. Diving into the lake repeatedly
This afternoon, the water was always the familiar
Golden green near the surface in the sun,
Bluish green when a cloud intervened, and
Darker green down where it started to crush
The lungs. The rocks within reach just before
The sudden drop-off twenty strokes from shore
Felt familiarly slick to the fingertips. Temptation
Was to think of the familiarity as inhering
In the rocks and the shore, the drop and the water,
Or maybe in the weather, but that was wrong,
Or no, not wrong, unhelpful to the effort
At understanding, unhelpful to this quest.
The molecules of water, swimmer, algae,
Atmosphere, were churned and churning
Replacements for earlier examples, and
Saying percentages were new, percentages
The same was a distraction. It was the way
In which they were changing, the changes
That were familiar and irrelevant to measures
Of the substances ushered into existence,
Then together, apart, and out of existence
By the change. It wasn’t only that change
Was in everything, but that change was the only
Thing that had any patterning, and the patterning
Itself was one way of differentiating. The going
Away created by going the sense of some things
That stayed, variable rates with familiar
Directions and waves. This was Dive’s Dive we were
Swimming in, after all, all of us, fish and waves,
Where it never mattered whether matter appeared
Steady or its distributions equal, because
The sameness was in the steadiness of the ways
We all got new deals we kept losing. What we kept
Was the losing, the many distinct ways
Of getting by losing by getting and losing.
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