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