Anemones

The clear blue water of a swimming pool, a bright noon in August.

Her hair a pixie cut, still waving like anemones in that cool water.

Black bikini, golden brown skin; her sweetness makes it all perfect.

 

Water, even treated and contained, holds us aloft between worlds.

Her smiling down on me as I sink away to the deep end, a supplicant,

we can catch our fingers on the moon or the sun, or the end of all things.

 

She swims down to me, touches my face, and I surrender to her, to fate,

and what measure of peace God allows in the remnants before extinction.

She touches my face, and we are somewhere else, that no demon can find.

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