The Swimmer

Sea bronzes through tides

like shadows on the swimmer’s face

as he thrusts past the waves,

convulsively gobbling air.

Basalt bricks line the bay,

his water walk of freedom, baptism of salt.

Schools of fish congregate near the shore,

eager to nip naked ankles.

Clouds cluster at the golden firmament,

forming pools of inchoate moisture,

drenched in incipient storms, bursting

with downpours, torrents, floods.

The swimmer muscles into depths,

dives far to the seafloor, grasps relics

of living coral. Silver souvenirs. Above,

wavy reflections of the world’s bright inanity.

Washed free of sin, absolved of all

catastrophe, nature nurtures souls

clothed in flesh, yearning to rise

into stone: monuments of eternity.

Splashing through currents thick as grass,

the swimmer surges, falls back, relaxes

into a spell of inward buoyancy. Bobbing

like a lure, he floats idly by, nearly bronzed.