Swimmer




Oh, I have swum here before,
in these grassy fields of Summer,
in the waving green among
the dandelion stems,

with young grasshoppers leaping
between milkweed flowers and
the pink throned thistle.

Back and forth I glide, pushing out
from the edge of the apple tree shadows,
sliding past zippered walnuts,

into the deep green haygrass
of a new mown lawn.

Diving below, the sky dome
ripples above me, as ants and
beetles, millipedes and mayflies

do their hot summer work at the bottom
of the grass-green sea.

Then I break onto my backside,
to float away on white blossoms of clover,
carried by honey bee wings

and the drift of summer wind, out toward
the edge of autumn, way past winter, around
the cold bubble of spring

to the warmth of shore
and sunshine,
to the Summer that never ends, again.