Day 12, Swimming

Swimming.

Becalmed, some would say paralysed

unable to swim for it, directionless,

with drowning in the back of my mind.

I’m left putting in the miles, not a salvation

but a drudgery, a treading of water.

If I keep at it – good or bad? There’s no one

prepared to say if it’s worth the fight with time,

earth and moon when all that’s left

is half-tested diving, the saving of stones.

The purpose of swimming will be revealed, I hope.

I am prepared to listen for a voice

wanting to be heard, which would at last give words

that made sense of staving off sinking,

whose lips would hiss snatches of answers.