Swimming my way home

All water always opens up a space

exactly me-shaped when I slip inside.

In water I’ve a fluency and grace

I never sense on land, a weightless glide

of limbs, the movement effortless and smooth,

each stroke as easy as a heartbeat or a breath.

The ocean washes me of all untruth

opening me to something alien, immense.

The surface of the sea speaks to my skin –

but not in any language I can understand

however carefully I try to listen in.

What seeps in might be far too huge to handle

while all I’d hoped to keep locked solid, fast

will disappear, dissolve, and will not last.

Angela Stoner