Swim

 

Like staring back
at the cat
and getting swallowed by its eyes—

 

that green
that cold,

 

or falling in-
to the frenetic
activity in funny papers

 

all that foam

 

and the salt in my nose

 

with its taste of the moment of conception,

 

the theft of desire
and the floundering to be born,

 

then the burst of birth
with its contingent obligation

 

to participate

 

to get beyond the breakers
and swim.

 

Jean Esteve