September Swim
Knee deep just feet from shore
your dive was more of an unhurried fall,
your hands ahead of you,
and then the water closed around your clothes,
your skirt collapsing suddenly
like a flower pulled by its stem through liquid.
You didn’t make a sound.
The wind rustled leaves all around us
and corrugated the water.
The sun dipped lower.
I didn’t know if you would ever
appear again because in that split second,
standing on the shore of this pond
in the mountains, long afternoon shadows
were black shrouds on the water,
tinges of yellow and orange already
seeping into leaves, I sensed the new season,
felt one season expire and pass on.
And in that moment you were submerged,
swallowed whole; but like a loon,
you bobbed up and shrieked the cold
baptism out of your lungs. Then you stood up,
wet clothes clinging to your body,
your hands holding your surprised face.