THE SWIM

The lake, wide but longer

than the imagination (it makes its own

horizon north and south), comes prettily

to our feet, a giant animal grown

gentle. Is it like anything else

we know? I remember being thirteen and

briefly in love with a boy already

as large as a large man, and him offering

his tender lips to mine-the rest of his

body there, but not touching, not yet.

Have we forgotten everything else?

If I want I can remember everything-

the not tender, the not gentle-

but look at what we're being offered,

the chance to strip down, accept grace

with our own grace, dive in and forget.