And then that falsetto feeling.
The swim out to how

dipped in wreck. Age
of recreation or waves

of sweat. This is
a test: count the unfettered

floating up.
Up as awakening.

Count the fathoms. Inside
voice palmed as a stone

weathered, pocket-deep
and wanting

the ache of wind. Skip-thrill, souvenir
echo. Bless the whetted.

Reckon with small hands
cupped to collect. Fingers

poised to press. Spill
and spill and shhhh—
put on

your wind. Put it on
and mouth the strokes.