Friday, February 11, 2011

The thought of swimming again.

For B.

Between the fins and channels
And into the characteristics of sleep--

One casting arm after another
Reaches further and longer
Along,

Embracing a restless, curling horizon
With nod-offs

And soft eyes.

Winter strikes the passing surface--
From the bank, tilting,
The sun sings a relentless song.

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