The pool is cold on this hot summer day.
Clear and clean like silver on the back of a mirror.
I see my face. I see her face.
Her hair bright and glowing, as if, like Sif,
it was spun from gold, gold and sunlight.
Her eyes blue as the sky. Her skin glittering aquamarine.
She smiles, and I feel at peace, a stillness in my mind.
My heart pumps as contentedly as a napping kitten.
Her hand, warm and smooth, touches my cheek.
It’s been such a long day, curled up on the bus,
everyone else so boisterous and happy, while I
carry a weight I cannot name.
It’s been such a long trip, and I almost untethered
into a spiritual realm, looking down at them,
and myself, with out words or solace of an embrace.
She touches me, and all that goes away, all is quiet,
like the cannons silencing on Armistice Day long ago,
when another grinding battle was over for a spell.
She raises herself up to me, kneeling on the edge of the pool,
and her soft, pale, almost colorless lips touch my own bare ones,
and I close my eyes, and I am star, a star so far away from here.
Her arms around me, she pulls me under, and the cold is welcoming
although maybe I should pray because I don’t know where she’s taking me.
Or maybe I should offer words to a darker and more ancient god.
And there is soft, bluish light here, and she holds me so close, so tight.
I am hers, whether it’s for the better or the worse. I am now here.
Her skin is warm, her arms gentle, and I have nothing to run back to.