WATERLOGGED

We both jumped into the deep end;
anchors pretending
to know a thing or two about drag,
we must have looked like we
knew everything about holding on
when we broke the ice while practically holding hands;
that one hurt.

Sometimes my love
feels like 35,000 walrus
looking to rest on a bed of sea ice,
that's melted.

I'm still swimming.
You're drying off. 
I don't even know whose towel that is.

This is where I live now;
waterlogged
and rationing breath,
convinced that if this water
is strong enough to hold me
and swift enough to kill me
then just maybe it's also
transparent enough to teach me

balance.

I'm still swimming.

10/16/2014