There’s ecstasy in the moment one quits kicking;
when tension blanches from the body.
One becomes a flaccid mass, dragged through white water.
One feels the gravity diminish in the dips,
but — unlike rolling into an undertow —
one is always violently righted.
One’s head bursts above water —
gasping reflexively.
One survives like the stumbling drunk who tumbles down a staircase —
only to murder by dislodging a sober person from the penultimate step.
Rather a dark ending, but it’s your poem 🙂
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