breakwater

dreaming,
night-scheming,
you swim back to me.
whispering, the air
between us, bubbles,
as you mouthe the words,
"let’s try it again,"
implying perhaps
a newfound ability,
on your part,
to swim,
synchronized,
but the water burns;
i cannot breathe.
i shake my head,
kick my heels and
rise to the surface
to slam my head
with my flat palm,
as if to clear my
swimmer’s ear,
shrugging off,
one shoulder,
then the other,
draining my head
of your lies.

collage art by anne cunningham 06/10/04