I have swum too far
out of my depth
and the sun has gone;
the hung weight of my legs
a plumb-line,
my fingers raw, my arms lead;
the currents pull like weed
and I am very tired
and cold, and moving out to sea.
The beach is still bright.
The children I never had
run to the edge
and back to their beautiful mother
who smiles at them, looks up
from her magazine, and waves.
This Issue
December 5, 2002
This Issue
December 5, 2002
