Diving

Middle-aged, learning

to dive, pushing off with the feet

hands above the head, fingers

touching water first, legs straight

together, feet in last.

Standing at the edge

of the pool again, toes scraping

hot concrete, remembering

fluttering butterflies

like asking someone out

for the first time, touching

their bodies, their fingers

their hands gripping your own,

the rush of adrenaline

as your lips meet

holding your breath

your form slipping in

to the warm blue water

the heaviness of the body

racing toward bottom

only to rise

like two spent bodies floating

on water, lying silently together

suddenly breathing.

                              -Kenny Harmon