A D a y a t t h e B e a c h, O r L e s s o n s i n S w i m m i n g :
Pouring from a cup without a handle
past a fisherman’s hook
my clothes are wet
but my mouth is dry.
Ships all look the same from the bottom up.
There are some waters I'd rather not get to know.
I drape myself across the rocks
Touching gently wet noses
I climbed a mountain once
Naked as the rock
Dug my toes deep into a crevice
Searching for a spring to fill my mouth
And now I comb fish into my hair
I can make sandcastles
And they never wash away.
I take lessons from an oyster -
Scooping pearls into my mouth
Rolling them around my tongue like French.