We indulge our passions, unthinking

of the ripples we make. I am most alive

when I am dead underwater, cocooned

in it’s gentle caress. No hacking cough,

not even the pain that shoots

down my leg on land.

This poem flows therefrom

like the drops that slide off my back

as I take a turn and swim away.

My father was right, I was born not to sink

but to swim on a cold dawn when the moon

waxing gibbous sought me out

from hiding and told me to float

float away, stay afloat.

And that is where you will find me,

my past draped across my shoulders,

naked and weightless,

staying afloat.