Swimming is an endorphin rush
that thunderbolts my body apart like a prism
until, with strength of mind, the body resets
limb by limb, toe by toe. Fingertips touch,
callouses cracking, joints readjusting. The pulmonary rhythm
normalises: my lungs forage for oxygen to nourish
my blood. A cold embrace ensures no regrets
and buoys my head above the flood.

A mist altar cloth, below which two swans trail my wake,
and a priestly heron sermonises from a frosty perch.
JEEZUS, Oh God! we blaspheme, immersing in the deep, dark lake.
Baptised from sleep I awaken in my church,
besmirched by life, a thirst to satiate.
Muscles, sinews, tendon on bones, lurch,
and fracture like clay as sunlight mistakes
the shimmering of reeds for the glistening lake.

There’s always a fear, a what if? What is beneath?
The mind plays games with dryland belief,
as though the water has hidden teeth.
But then the calm, the camomile effect
that strokes the brow and says ‘Hush now,
your body is strong, your mind is not wrecked.
Take it easy, everything is in tune: be lulled by the balm of the Blue Lagoon’.