There are times in the heat of summer
when if you stop me running and plunging
I might even kill you. And yet –
I swim from the neck down.
I float, I glide, I play, I luxuriate,
but let the water overwhelm my face
and I'm screaming, thrashing, dizzy, wild.
It is without reason.
My fantasies of underwater
are slow, beautiful, dreamy,
strangely tranquil landscapes of desire.
Nothing ever happened in this life
to fill me with such terror. Why?
It's a sudden thing
too fast for control.
When I remember Atlantis,
I was swimming strong
on the crest of the swell.
No more, only that fragment.