For a Poet-Athlete

Stay awhile. Admit circumference.

The swimmer merges with the sea, his muscles

Measure undulating waters, his motion

Masters time. From cape to shore, from ship

To peak, the transatlantic voices arc

Wide upon the air, through coils of space

Where Caesar spoke, and echoes yet. The silent

Carousel still turns, although the horses

Stand paralyzed upon the rods, the children

Tucked in bed. They shall not bury you

Within your days and yards, for you have bared

Your muscles to the rolling waters, woven

Waves of voices into flying words

That spiral into Caesar's. Oceans collide

And carousels rust-yet time is full of rings.

A little hoop of brass will let you ride.