The only swim of summer comes much too late
the water so cold it burns, turns frozen limbs to stone
the shock enough to stop weaker hearts than ours.
Your face is screwed up tight like a jar
as you scan the water for crocodiles
woman-child in a rubber ring
your half grown breasts seem borrowed
until you push the rubber ring away and swim.
We watch it float
the current trails off to a sigh;
we dress before we’re dry.