If I open my mouth perhaps
the fish will swim in
and I shall drown
for daring to welcome you
while under water.
But if I wait to rise
the waves may overwhelm
and I may never find you again.
So I wait, avoiding weed
that threads my ankles yet
drifts innocently around
the darting fish that rise to test
my mouth, probe, kiss, forget;
and watch you
relearning your strokes
in the same way water
has become unfamiliar to me.
And I wonder if we shall always
watch each other learning,
help each other without a word
and without a shared stroke
to swim, and surface
in an immense ocean
simply because we are afraid
of fish. And drowning.
2013 © Andie Davidson