I miss sinking

Into weightlessness:

That drift into silence

As chatter

Is drowned out

By the water.

And my body:

Dangerous as a knife

Cutting through

The surface.

A firing engine

All propulsion

And swift

Forward motion.

I miss

That feeling of balance:

Finding grace

Like a dancer

Once I step

Off from land.

Breath

Becomes meditation,

Becomes the fuel

That fires

A solitary victory.

And I push through,

Until I am spent

Of all the clutter

Crowding my days. ~ Caroline A. Slee